Weapon of Choice
by Ozzallos
Summary: An old acquaintance from Ranma's past opens up new doors and a future he never even considered for himself. The first step is said to be the longest stride... And for our martial artist, one straight into the deep end. DC Comics x Ranma xover.
1. Chapter 1

**Weapon of Choice  
** By Ozzallos

Issue #01 – _"A League of Their Own"_

" **B** aka."

It was a normal morning for Ranma Saotome, heir to the Anything Goes School of Martial Arts; that is if one were to label a melee of fists, edged weaponry, umbrellas, magical aphrodisiacs and toxic food before school even started 'normal'. That day had originally kicked off with Shampoo and her nocturnal snuggling of the slumbering martial artist, snuggling which had apparently continued well into the morning hours until interrupted by an irate Akane Tendo and the bucket of water that had accompanied her. While the bucket was forced to comply with the youngest Tendo's demands, the cold water therein jumped all too readily at her designated targets, awakening the rest of the household to a terrified female scream, the yowl of a cat and the stomping of frustrated fiancée feet.

A normal morning indeed.

The word itself was a likewise familiar form of address and as such rolled his eyes as he picked over a bowl of rice while the dark haired girl next to him sniffed her disdain over the incident now barely half an hour old. Still, he had managed through the feline induced epileptic seizures, acquired hot water and was eating breakfast. Better yet, the girl named his fiancée hadn't seen fit to belt him over the incident. Yet.

"And I keep telling ya it's not my fault," Ranma shook his head in between bites. "How was I supposed to know she was there?"

"How could you _not_ know?" This time it was Akane's turn to favor the martial artist with a lidded glare that conveyed her lack of amusement. "You could just tell her to stop, after all."

Ranma glanced back at Akane with a look that told her exactly what he thought of that particular suggestion. If the bland expression didn't convey his thoughts clearly enough, his words did. "Yeah, been there, done that."

"Try _harder_ ," Akane emphasized direly, but let her ire fade. Even she knew Shampoo was going to be persistent and if a near miss wedding hadn't clued her in...

Even as Ranma shrugged the ordeal off and returned to the rice and miso breakfast they shared, the kitchen door swung open. A yawn accompanied the older sister's entry into the dining room as did a mug of hot coffee in her left hand. Frazzled hair. Baggy eyes. The pigtailed teen noted the details with a cursory glance as the sibling passed. It was the Nabiki unknown to the rest of the world- disheveled, barely sentient-

"I could help out, you know?" Nabiki offered lethargically, sipping her coffee. Ranma's cheek twitched. Disheveled, barely sentient, yet still ready to make money at a moment's notice. She coaxed another lengthy sip from the mug, eyeing the engaged couple with an overly charitable smile. "Just say the word. I'll even throw in a family discount."

"Like the wedding?" Akane returned without amusement, saying the words Ranma could only think.

"Oh _, that?_ " Nabiki rolled her eyes, affecting innocence. "How was I supposed to know that all Saotome's friends would go nuts?"

This time the pigtailed boy couldn't help but to comment. "How could you _not_ know?"

The older sister paused with the snark, putting a thoughtful index finger to her lips. "I do seem to recall a tuxedo returned to me in less than pristine condition. Those fees get a tad pricey, you know?"

A mouthful of rice promptly lodged itself within Ranma's throat to produce a coughing fit.

Akane favored her sibling with a put-out look even as Nabiki lent her an affectionate pat on the head in return. "Think about it. If you have a change of heart, you know where to find me."

Both Ranma and Akane watched Nabiki walk by with all the superiority in the world regardless of the fact that she hadn't shed her morning attire or even looked the part of the Ice Queen everybody knew and loved. Akane shook her head in resignation as the girl left their presence, presumably to lounge in front of the TV as she was wont to do on Saturdays.

The martial artist's cheek twitched as she disappeared out of sight. He turned back to Akane. "And you say the girls are bad."

"They _are._ " The youngest Tendo deadpanned, causing Ranma to snort at her dry humor. "Almost as bad as those two."

Ranma followed her glance, though it didn't take instantaneous eye contact to know what she was looking at. Or rather _who_. Beyond the table was the patio window and beyond that, two men older men playing shogi... Or rather desperately feigning playing shogi as they watched the drama play out from within. Eye contact was made however, and the pair conspicuously shifted their attention back to the board.

"Maybe it's better to keep the fiancée thing going for their sake," The pigtailed teen mused idly, wholly unaware of the bug eyes her expression had suddenly produced until he turned back to her. "I'm sure Ukyo and Shampoo would be happy to help. Best leave Kodachi... ah..."

Ranma watched the girl's hand flex into a fist. "Because one of them waking up in your bed isn't enough?!"

"Fine, fine." The teen sighed, lamenting the death of his idea while acknowledging that its sacrifice would help placate his volatile fiancée. He glanced back over at the girl with a shrug. "Don't suppose you have any good ideas?"

"You mean aside from just telling them 'no'?" Akane returned his question with a snarky one of her own. Ranma shrugged against the unamused look she set against him.

"I'm workin' on it." He replied with seeming indifference. "Ukyo I might be able to convince, but Shampoo…"

Something other than annoyance manifested itself across Akane's features as the conversation finally seemed to turn toward something of actual substance. She finished her bit of rice, wondering at the pigtailed boy's. "Shampoo, 'what'?"

"Shampoo ain't the problem," The black-haired teen across from her noted in between bites. He motioned his head outside, as if the subject matter he was referencing were just beyond the household walls. "It's the old Ghoul."

"So?" Akane blinked unsure of where the old woman fit into their conversation.

"So it's like this… What happened the last time Shamps disappointed her?" Ranma asked speculatively.

"She came back to try again…" Akane's expression soured as she recalled just how many times the Amazon had come back to try again. Memory techniques. Drugs. Magic. Ukyo was the thorn her side she could stand. Shampoo, on the other hand, was the dagger in her back. The irritated Tendo scowled her displeasure over the topic. "…And again. _And again_."

"Right, but what's gonna happen if she gives up?" Ranma pressed, hoping to get the girl to see the problem from his point of view. The school girl eyed him without understanding. He leaned back from the table, standing up as he pressed the point home. "What'd the old ghoul do last time she didn't come home with either a husband or my head on a platter?"

"Well they just… She…" Akane began to answer, then suddenly stopped. She blinked several times while Ranma watched the connections being made, then inserted the reality of what had happened into them.

"She came back as… as one of those _things_ , Akane." The martial artist visibly shivered, stumbling over the forbidden word until finding a way to bypass saying it completely. He paused before stepping out into the living room, all but ready to wash his hands of the well-worn topic. "Good Ol' Cologne chucked her own great granddaughter into a cursed spring… So you tell me what's gonna happen if I tell her no outright?"

Ranma waited for a moment, watching as the girl named his fiancée stared at him, blinking. The answer appeared similar to his own—Not a damn clue. Of course, he hadn't really expected her to have anything, though just the fact that he wasn't receiving push-back was a miracle in itself. He decided to do what any sensible martial artist with a volatile fiancée would do in the same circumstances…

…He took his victory and ran.

Fortunately, his retreat only required a few steps to remove himself from Akane's presence and he paid a passing glance toward the next major obstacle between him and the outside world. She was thankfully curled up on the living room couch, her attention divided between a magazine and the news. Ranma speculated that his chances of making a clean getaway were better than average and attempted to make the passing behind her as unobtrusive as possible.

For her part, Nabiki Tendo didn't notice; at least not at first. She was preoccupied on three fronts, absently thumbed through her fashion magazine while paying occasional attention to the morning financial report. She sipped the third of her distractions, which would in turn imbue the middle sister with enough life to actually roll off the couch and begin her day. Eventially. Until the latter actually happened, she was content enough to drink her coffee and watch TV… At least until she noted the shadow standing over her. She blinked up and found a familiar pigtailed boy behind her, staring at the television.

"Back for more love advice, Saotome?."She arched a skeptical eyebrow, unsure of what to make of his silent presence. She glanced to the TV, then back, noting the focus of his attention and his failure to react to her jibe. "What gives?"

"Who's he?" Ranma gestured with an oddly blank expression, finally acknowledging Nabiki's presence. On the screen was a Caucasian foreigner in a black suit and tie, smiling as he shook hands with some local official. The camera panned out to a crowd lining what looked to be a factory assembly line. The mercenary crooked a smile for the pigtailed boy.

"Only the man of my dreams, not that you would know." She chuckled, earning a curious look from the martial artist. She happily filled in the blanks for him. "Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. He's rich, handsome and rich; three qualities I admire in a man."

"What's he doing in Japan?" The martial artist wondered aloud, ignoring her attempt at humor. Nabiki gave her future brother-in-law a searching look before indulging his curiosity.

"Something to do with an agreement between Wayne Tech and Marusha Industrial." The mercenary explained, turning back to the TV as a newscaster fawned over the news clip. "I'll tell you what, though—Somebody's stock just went through the roof with that contract."

The television continued to drone on as the factory scene was replaced by graphs and charts detailing the aforementioned stock and its climb upward. After several long moments of silence, Nabiki looked back up at Ranma, who still only had eyes for the TV. His fixation with the news story was starting to become unnerving.

"Alright, now you're just being creepy, Saotome." She admitted, staring up at him. The accusation seemed to finally break him out of his trance and he smiled weakly.

"Yeah, sorry about that." He shrugged casually, turning away for the door. "Guess I never saw somebody with that much money before."

"Kuno doesn't exactly compare, does he?" Nabiki agreed in a wistful tone that might have been mistaken for romantic reminisces as she returned her attention back to the TV. The financial segment continued and after another moment of silence she glanced back up, half expecting Akane's fiancée to still be brooding behind her.

The patio door to the back yard slid shut behind him.

* * *

 **S** omething was wrong with the boy.

Those who knew Genma Saotome would never accuse the man as being an empathetic parent. His world revolved around being the best by any means necessary; an ethos that extended to his one and only child. No son of his would be anything less- _could_ be anything less, and if that meant swimming the Sea of Japan with a full pack, that was fine. If it meant wrapping him up in fish sausage and tossing him into a pit of starving cats to teach him a nigh unbeatable technique, so be it. Not all of his efforts bore the fruit he expected, but that was also fine according to his world view. The life of a martial artist was fraught with peril, after all. As the best, he expected his son to deal with it, not sob in the corner like a baby.

Empathy was _definitely_ not the man's strong suite.

Even so, the elder Saotome knew his son. He had trained him since the age of four and knew the boy better than anybody; even his own mother. Genma could read his son like an open book and used that advantage to its fullest during their sparring. He consider such psychological warfare a valid martial arts tactic, while inuring his son to it would only make the boy stronger. It also helped his father know when something about the boy was off, such as today.

Genma Saotome's fist blurred past his son's cheek, missing the broadside of Ranma's face by only a scant few centimeters. He followed up with a roundhouse kick that was purposely delayed to confirm the hypothesis, noting his progeny's failure to capitalize on the opening. The Saotome patriarch stepped up the attacks and their aggression in order to force a response. Even when Ranma finally responded with his own counterattack, Genma could tell his child was simply going through the motions. There was no drive to press the attack, as if Ranma's mind were somewhere else.

He upped the pressure, kicking into Ranma's own shoulder hard even as he employed his own brand of parenting.

"Sulking like a girl, Ranma?"

That earned a reaction. Ranma's attention focused with a slight frown and he beat back his father's own offense, rolling across the man's punch to try and lock the overextended attack. Genma snatched his arm back, smirking at the success of his goading. Now that he had the boy's attention back, it was time to find out just what was distracting him. Ranma stepped in, flowing across the green turf that comprised the Tendo property as he sought to breach his father's guard with a flurry of punches.

"What's on your mind, boy?" Genma speculated aloud, still noting the lack of decisive aggression as the pair danced across the yard, probing at one another's defenses. The smirk returned. "Thinking of just what dress to wear after practice?"

Ranma simply rolled his eyes, backstepping as his father attempted to capitalize on the distraction. The older man's fingertip stab and follow-up kick cleaved the air, but Ranma was gone. The pigtailed boy swung right in his retreat then reengaged with both a physical assault and a question of his own.

"Just wonderin'," Ranma began as he threw a trio of jabs into his father's guard in order to gauge his response. "Remember that temple in the mountains?"

"That really narrows it down." The bald man returned sarcastically, batting his son's probes away, warily circling his offspring as his parenting skills finally began to pay off. He watched him tilt his head, as if recalling the details from memory.

"Pretty sure you'd remember this one." The teen assumed and began to press his father with a modest combination of kicks and punches while describing the particular temple he had in mind. "Kinda looks like a fortress. Snow everywhere. Stayed there while we were hiking through Tibet?"

A guarded look crossed the father's face, all but confirming Ranma's speculation. The martial artist produced a thin smile with the reaction as he continued. "Thought so. What was that all about, anyway?"

"You really expect me to remember every backwater temple out of the dozens we visited?" Genma questioned rhetorically, taking on a defensive tone as he did.

"Nah. Just this one." Ranma shrugged. His gaze turned cool as he stepped into a new, less familiar stance. "It's where I learned _this_ , after all."

Ranma swept forward with the knife edges of his hand and began to hammer at his father's guard with uncharacteristic grace, targeting pressure points the surprise elder Saotome desperately rolled out to avoid. The blur of his son was on him even before he had a chance to reset his guard and suddenly his abdomen blossomed with excruciating pain. Genma shut it out with a grunt and retaliated, watching as his son's movement lost the theatrical flair of Anything Goes. They became sharp and economic, as if any excess movement were a crime. The parent's punches were deflected with the same efficiency, forcing him to take bigger and bigger risks in order to put an end to this particular father-son talk.

"Jogging your memory any, Pops?" The teen produced a tight smile as he reversed an aggressive thrust, managing two hard stabs along the arm. His father winced, yanking his arm out of the line of fire even as feeling drained from it.

Genma sent an accusing glare back at his offspring as he favored the arm. "Leave it alone, boy. It's for your own good."

"Yeah, now where have I heard that before?" The pigtailed boy shook his head. He shifted his balance as if to gain more traction. "And remember how you told me to never use most of that stuff?"

" _Ranma…"_ Genma warned in a low tone, tightening his guard with the expectation of imminent attack.

The pigtailed teen blurred forward, his arms arcing in like a serpent. Genma lunged to intercept, only to find little force behind the blow before realizing it for the feint it was. Ranma flowed under the block and punched into several pressure point that caused his father's body to blossom with agony at their touch. Genma staggered left with the audible grunt of pain, purposely appearing to falter even as Ranma set up for another strike. The boy was fast these days, but the art he employed now was pure, unlike the patchwork of Anything Goes. It was potent, but ultimately inferior as Genma switched to Krav Maga to grapple with his son. The surprise on Ranma's face was enough as the bald man's arm locked his son's elbow and pivoted it back, then rotated the teen's body skyward.

 _ **SpaloooSH!**_

Physics took over from there and there was only one place Ranma could land. Koi sloshed around the drenched redhead as she sputtered, spitting out pond water while wading angrily to the shore. Ranma brushed her wet bangs out of her eyes, noting her father's unsteady balance. She knew that _he knew_ his throw had been a pyrrhic victory at best and dropped into the advanced ninjitsu stance once more.

"Round two, old man." The dripping neo-girl declared as her hands flexed back out into knife edges.

Genma glared at his son-turned-daughter, searching for a way out of this particular predicament. Escalating their fight was certainly an option, but the art she adopted only allowed for so much escalation before turning decidingly lethal. The fact that she was already pulling her punches was telling enough. Yes, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve, and yes, the amalgam of techniques known as Anything Goes was superior, but… But it was going to hurt a lot more before he claimed that victory. With that in mind, Genma Saotome reluctantly availed himself to the least savory option he could think of as a parent—The truth.

"Fine." Genma declared tersely, dropping his guard. Ranma cocked her head as he elaborated. "But not out here. Tonight."

The redhead stared at her father with uncertainty, only relaxing her stance once he had turned away for the house with a noticeable limp. For some reason she suspect it would still be a waste of time even with the ambiguous promise, but let her father hobble off.

Besides, she could always beat the truth out of him later.

* * *

" **T** he League of Assassins."

Genma Saotome's foreboding words drew his son's attention from the twinkling of the Tokyo skyline against the night sky to his father, who continued his stoic thousand-yard stare into the night. A cool breeze cut across the rooftop they currently occupied; alone save a bank of air conditioning units and their accompanying ventilation. Ranma likewise suspected they would remain alone given the fact that it was just after 2am in the morning, which was probably the point. Not even the Tendos would be aware of their absence.

"The league of _what…?"_ Ranma repeated without comprehension. It wasn't that he didn't understand the words versus the lacking any sort of context surrounding them. He stared at his father's back as the man took in the city lights.

"Assassins." The bespeckled martial artist repeated without turning back. "That fortress temple you described was their base of operations."

"Waitaminute." The pigtailed boy blinked, processing the new information with marginal disbelief. "You dropped me off to train with _assassins?"_

"It's all martial arts, boy." Genma began before getting sharply cut off by his son. "Do you think—"

"You told me they were monks!" Ranma insisted with growing indignation, stepping into his parents' space.

"What part of 'seven years old' don't you understand?" The Saotome patriarch finally turned back to the teen with crossed arms, as if the facts being leveled against him were irrelevant. "You wouldn't have understood anyway."

"Like it didn't ever occur to you that maybe it might just have been a _really_ bad idea?" The martial artist shook his head pinching his nose in frustration. After a moment, he adopted a bland look for the man in front of him. "Wait. What am I saying? Of course not. It never does."

"Please." Genma retorted as his patience began to wear. "I don't see you complaining about all the other techniques that have saved your ass countless times."

"You just don't get it, do you?" Ranma glared at his father, gesturing out to the city beyond him. "There's always a string attached, so I'm wondering which it's gonna be this time—Another crazy fiancée or some psycho out to get me?"

"Don't you have faith in your dear old dad?" Genma clutched at his head in exaggerated sadness. "Woe be me for having such an ungrateful child!"

"Maybe I wouldn't worry so much if they weren't in town." Ranma returned dryly, watching his father's theatrics suddenly cease. The bald martial artist eyed his son carefully.

"The league…. _Here?_ " Genma's expression faded from annoyance to slight alarm as his son folded his arms, watching his reaction.

"If by 'here' you mean the only Caucasian guy I ever saw training in assassin central, then yeah, they're here alright." The martial artist jabbed his thumb over his shoulder as if to indicate that the location of here was in close proximity.

"You're sure?" The father pressed with mounting concern, only to watch as his son nodded.

"He's older, but it's definitely him." Ranma shook his head without humor. "And I know better than to just chalk it up to coincidence."

"I see." The father's frown deepened as he leveled a serious gaze upon his only child. "Son, listen to me very carefully. The League of Assassins is not something to be trifled with. They're a worldwide organization with killers of the highest caliber amongst their rolls. Governments fall at their whim, boy."

A pit began to develop in Ranma Saotome's stomach as he considered the news report featuring the assassin in question. He was rich and powerful, matching his father's description of the organization to the letter. The martial artist's thoughts turned acerbic. Not only _wasn't_ it a coincidence, coincidence apparently _hated_ him.

' _With a passion,'_ He huffed internally, still trying to get a handle on yet another mess instigated by the man called his father.

"And how do you know so much about these people?" Ranma voiced the most obvious concern that came to mind, then switched to the next in line. "Hell, who would be stupid enough to let their kid train with them?"

"It was for the art, boy." Genma stated, as if that were all the justification he needed. "As for how, let's just say the Master had some prior dealings with them and leave it at that."

" _Greeaaat."_ The teen drawled sarcastically. "So when can I expect more panty thieves to show up out of the woodwork?"

"I'm serious, Ranma." The gi-clad father figure returned, his glass flashing ominously as the reflection from the traffic below caught them. "Cross them and they won't just come after you. They'll come after everybody you know—Friends. Family. Loved ones. This isn't a game."

"Says the guy who dropped his kid off on their doorstep." Ranma rolled his eyes as he gestured to himself. "That was me by the way. Don't suppose you promised 'em anything and didn't deliver, did you?"

Ranma's father remained silent, projecting a stony look back at his son and providing him with the answer he all but expected. It was Ukyo all over again, except starring an international organization of killers this time.

' _And Happosai,'_ The martial artist groused. It was like a perfect storm of idiocy. If his father's own actions hadn't damned him, the old pervert's were all but guaranteed to.

"In either case, we're going on a training trip." The bald martial artist stated authoritatively, as if he had a complete handle on the situation. "If the League of Assassins is in town, we need to make sure your skills are—"

"Hide in the woods, you mean." Ranma shook his head, immediately preempting the explanation with his own sarcastic interpretation, causing his father's cheek to twitch.

Genma's jaw ground down in frustration as he tried to enforce his plan of action through force of will. "You can't go head to head with them, boy! Our best bet is to disappear for a little bit and train up so we can—"

"You mean so it can bite me in the ass at a later date?" The pigtailed teen cocked his head with an unimpressed look, interrupting his father again. The older man looked like he was about to answer the question until Ranma continued doubtfully. "Seriously, when has that ever worked?"

"Boy, you will—"

"No _, you_ will." Ranma shook his head, finally turning his back on his parent to walk away. He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "And while you're doin' it, I'll be finding out what this guy's doing in Tokyo."

The Saotome patriarch balled a fist, but knew the top of a rooftop in the middle of the night wasn't the time or place to dress his son down with physical violence. Instead, he watched his child walk to the rooftop and hop off, taking the twenty meter drop to the sidewalk as if were a stair step.

Sooner or later his son would see things his way… Even if he had to apply a stop sign to the back of his head to do it.

* * *

 **Nine Years Ago**

" **A** warrior does not feel pain." A sage voice advised as a series of meaty 'thunks' continued to beat in time with his words. The sound was that of flesh as it met the dense ironwood structure of a sparring tree, each impact reverberating through its frame with controlled violence. The hands that plied fist to wood were wrapped in thread bare bandages, already stained through with the crimson tint of blood as they wove their brutal pattern into the post while the voice continued. "The warrior _is_ pain, meting it out upon his adversaries with unwavering resolve."

The voice circled around and behind Bruce Wayne as his very hands throbbed with excruciating pain, but continued to execute the drill by wrote. Each impact seemed to shoot agony through his very bones and up his arms, but he continued regardless. Sweat poured down his bare torso, yet both it and the pain were ignored. He hadn't come all this way to simply give up.

The Wayne heir could feel the presence behind him, watching silently as if passing judgement on his performance. Instead of acknowledging it, Bruce simply hit the sparing post harder while executing his combinations at a near blur.

"Will you let the pain defeat you, Bruce?" The gravelly voice wondered as it circled him from behind, out of sight. The apprentice clenched his jaw, letting the pain course through his body with each strike.

"The pain is a tool." He grunted, throwing himself into the kata. His next attack produced a sharp snap as one of the training arms fell away, clattering across the floor. Bruce ignored it and focused on the remaining arms as he recited the rest of the mantra. "The shadows are my home. The fear is my ally."

Another snap pitched across the dojo and another arm fell away in splinters. This one left a cut across the man's palm which bled freely, yet he continued the drill. Blood began to stain the wooden post as well until the bearded man stepped around into sight, holding his hand up.

"Enough."

The heir's arm froze mid throw, his entire muscular frame frozen still until the goateed man nodded. Bruce let out a pent up breath and clenched the lacerated hand to stymie the flow of blood. The deafening thud of his own heartbeat slowly faded and the noise of the dojo's other activities filtered back into his senses. A harsh yell muted by the room's geometry sounded from across the hall as practice continued in spite of his own kata.

"What are you feeling now?" The man older man inquired of his student with a studied gaze. A green cloak flowed around his person as he took position beside the exhausted apprentice, who in turn eyed him warily. The question sounded simple enough, but Bruce had found that never to be the case with the man known as Ra's al Ghul. His probe for information could just as easily lead to enlightenment as it would violence.

The Caucasian man far removed from any semblance of the western world considered his answer carefully before speaking. "I feel… I feel ready, sensei."

"Do you, now?" The man arched an eyebrow, as if weighing the statement for veracity. The black armored man gestured to him to follow as the green cape swept grandly in his wake. Bruce fell into step beside the master as they traversed the dojo. The various mats of the space they walked through were alive with sparing; mostly one on one but sometimes two or even three on one. Distracting yells echoed through the hall as the pair walked, while Ra's al Ghul glanced over to his protégée. "And what, exactly makes you feel that you are?"

"I'm not the same man who walked through those doors." Bruce Wayne answered with more confidence now that he had been allowed the chance to mentally center himself.

"Nobody who walks through those door is." The graying older man acknowledged in an impersonal tone, nodding with the fact. He paused, drawing to a halt with his gaze centering on the Wayne heir. "But what makes you different from them?"

"I'm better than them." The younger of the pair held his gaze on his master, knowing that such a candid remark could easily earn him a violent trip to the floor just to prove him otherwise. To his surprise, the cloaked figure gave him a studied look, but continued walking.

"Perhaps." He hedged impassively as they rounded the corner. The rest of the dojo stretched out before them while Ra's al Ghul himself received deferential nods as they passed other students and instructors. "We are all students, however. There is always somebody better, is there not?"

Bruce merely nodded with the fact. There wasn't even any point arguing when the man next to him could more than likely kill him with minimal effort, let alone a number of instructors that resided within the same walls.

"And _that_ is why you are not ready." The ninjitsu master shook his head, ignoring the young man's surprised face. He glanced sideways with an impassive expression writ across the aged lines of his face. "You should know by now that the will to act- the will to _triumph_ -supersedes skill. If you were truly ready, you must have the will to act against even me, regardless of the consequences... regardless of your very _survival_."

They walked the length of the hall until the green cloaked man stopped at the last mat, turning to observe the instruction taking place upon it. Bruce turned to watch as well and found one of the senior instructors kneeling beside a black haired boy who couldn't have been more than seven years old. The pair stood by as the adult by his side corrected his lunge and the angle of the short ninjato held in his hand.

"You know of young Saotome, of course." Ra's gestured to the boy rhetorically. Bruce, of course, did. The young Japanese boy was the only child that he knew of within the halls of the League, which was an oddity unto itself. Moreover, he was training with the same masters as he, as if the child weren't simply the seven year old he appeared to be. The sensei attending to the boy noted his master's presence and produced a respectful bow, one the boy immediately followed.

"Hey, Mister Ra's-san!" The black haired seven year old piped cheerfully as he retrieved back from the bow. The old man quirked the slightest of smiles at his enthusiasm, nodding to the child in kind as he replied in perfect Japanese. The Caucasian by his side had a passable grasp of the language and was able to follow the simple conversation.

"How are your studies progressing, Ranma?" The older man asked, noting the boy's various scrapes and bruises. If they affected the boy in anyway, his attitude didn't show it in his response.

"Sensei Kirigi was just teaching me strike angles." Ranma twirled the steel short sword in hand, then thrust it out and upward in order to demonstrate what everybody in attendance recognized as a the flat of his blade punching between the ribs and up into the heart of an imaginary person. Ra's al Ghul nodded his silent approval, then glanced at the man who had been training the boy. Words were unnecessary as Kirigi knew his presence was superfluous. He stepped to the edge of the mat and dropped into seiza, patiently observing. Ra's attention returned to the ponytailed boy.

"If I were to ask you to fight me, who would win?" The goateed man asked patiently and the young martial artist shrugged nonchalantly.

"I would."

"And why is that?" The master pressed as Bruce watched the exchange carefully. His sensei had never been one for small talk and he knew there was a lesson imbedded somewhere within the conversation.

"Cuz I'm the best." Ranma replied easily, to which the older man nodded again.

"Indeed." Ra's al Ghul seemed to take the answer at face value, stepping away from the Wayne heir as he did so. "This man also thinks he's ready to be the best. Please show him the error of his ways."

Bruce blinked with confusion, glancing back to his master as he, too, took to the sidelines of the tatami, then back to the boy who's smile grew even more confident. He watched as the seven year old tightened the black belt to his white gi even as the green cloaked master elaborated for his sake.

"You are three times his body weight. Two times his height." Ra's al Ghul remarked gesturing to the boy in front of Bruce. "He is only seven and you much stronger. I wonder which of you has the will to act?"

' _A test.'_ The younger man decided, looking back at the boy who stood by as if bored. What he was supposed to learn or even achieve was unknowable at this point, but the implication was clear—Fight the child.

At least it would be an easy test.

"I won't go soft on you, kid." He warned in halting Japanese and stepped into his initial nijitsu stance. The boy simply waited patiently even as Wayne constructed the initial engagement in his head—Rush the child, leg sweep, roll in and grapple where his body weight would do the rest. If he was being trained by the League, the boy undoubtable would have some tricks, but enough to influence the outcome of this particular match?

"Begin."

The long year and a half of hard training had beaten the hesitation out of Bruce Wayne and he rushed forward at his master's signal. He stepped into decisive range and drop low to pivot on one leg while the other swung out wide. Victory was assured… _Until it wasn't._ The black haired boy executed a quick hop over the leg and stepped into Wayne's open midsection, employing three quick knife edge jabs that caused Ra's apprentice to grunt with the sharp needling pain before pulling back to guard his midsection in order to fend off the next three punches in the combination.

Bruce attempted a counter, reaching to lock the boy's arm in close combat only to find his wrist batted away in deflection as the child quickly rolled out to break the engagement. Bruce watched his opponent warily while the child simply waited with a smile. The older of the two clenched his jaw with the throb of pain along his six and seventh rib on the right side while noting the kempo linage of the child's art.

"Ranma is training with us at the behest of his father," The old master explained from the sidelines even as Bruce's mind raced to formulate a new strategy. "Normally we would not consider such a request save the fact that his father was the apprentice of a respected- now deceased –grand master."

As if that were his signal, the boy exploded into motion, charging into his opponent with seeming reckless abandon. Bruce's response was a snap kick, only to watch as the boy grabbed at his right leg as if it were a gymnastics bar. He swung over it and use its momentum against the very person employing the kick. The seven year old had somehow ascended to the same absolute height and Bruce now found himself being force back by a ferocious volley of kicks that set him back into defense.

Like the punch to his ribcage, the kicks held a respectable amount of power. Ranma's aerial maneuver finally expended its kinetic energy and he dropped back to the mat behind the man, his legs snapping out to deny his opponent stable footing. Bruce stumbled away and reengaged, putting his strengths to work. Ra's was correct—He out-massed, out-muscled and out-leveraged the boy. The Wayne heir took one of the child's shots on purpose and endured the needling jab to his left thigh in order to get the opening he needed. The twenty-something year old man ignored the new pain and launched into an unrelenting offense, using his strength to overpower Ranma's defenses.

The boy grunted as several punches landed home, taking body blows even as he attempted to separate from the engagement. Ranma profiled left, avoiding the next and flowed under the punch to jab at the same rib from before. The hiss of pain that met his ears confirmed its effectiveness, then promptly earned him an elbow to the face that sent him sprawling with the force. Stars blasted across the young martial artist's vision as he executed a sloppy rollout just in time to meet Wayne's next attack.

The edge of Bruce's hand chopped and the man watched as the child stepped into a judo stance, caught his arm and applied the critical leverage. It was a classic throw that he should have never fallen for, but never saw coming. One moment it was kempo and the next, Judo. He even swore the kid was mixing it all in with League ninjitsu, but that mattered neither here or there. Wayne cursed himself as he tumbled through the air, correcting the arc so he would land with the ability to renew his assault. His feet touched the ground and he barely had time to defend against the kick that blazed in on his right shoulder. Had he have been a fraction of a second slower, it would have been his head taking the blow.

More pressure point blows reigned in from the impossibly agile child. His attacks were precise and measure. Even so, there was one overriding flaw to it all: He was mostly inflicting pain, not damage. The difference between the two was vast.

Bruce sidestepped, absorbing the next volley with his shoulder even as the grinning child circled him, waiting for an opening. Instead of attacking, the adult smirked. "You're pretty good… But this is going to hurt you more than it will me."

The spinning round house kick was his opener and Ranma threw both arms up in order to absorb its potential. There was no way he could bleed that much energy through a simple block however, and Ranma rolled across the mat even as the Wayne heir chased him down. One hit. Two. Three. The fact that Ranma was a seven year old no longer mattered to the man as he began to land solid blows, though the fact that the child was still doing the same was disconcerting. Those strikes didn't have his power, but they were targeting nerve clusters and each counterattack not only hurt, but began to numb appendages _._ Bruce feinted left, then pulled his punch as Ranma committed to the block.

It was time to end this game.

A solid, open-handed blow to the boy's chest dropped him, emptying his lungs of air. Bruce was on the child in an instant, finally managing enough of a hand hold on his right arm to twist it behind the boy's body in order to painfully lock the joint in place. Ranma winced, but continued to struggle.

"Yield." His older opponent demanded and tightened the lock.

Bruce glanced back at his master on the sidelines. The man seemed to have no intention of stopping the match, which left him with the dilemma of what to actually do with the boy. Fortunately, there was always the house rules to abide by—Matches were won either by yielding or unconsciousness. Wayne maneuvered his free arm around the child's neck.

"Don't say I didn't warn—"

 _Pop!_

The sound was instantly recognizable; that of a socket failing its joint. He had endured it and the lasting pain that went with such a maneuver before, and had even employed it against others during his training within the dojo. Here, however, Bruce Wayne hadn't initiated such a maneuver.

The child had done it to _himself._

Ranma's grunt of pain was lost to Bruce as he twisted out of his grip with the new found mobility, leaping backward along the now defunct arm's axis to knee the surprised man squarely in the face, then chopping at his throat just below the larynx to diminish his ability to take in oxygen. The free arm jabbed at his ribcage another two times, magnifying the pain already present to distracting levels.

The Caucasian man stumbled back, barely falling into a controlled kneel when Ranma's reverse spin kick met the other side of his face. Bruce tumbled across mat in an uncontrolled roll even as the black haired boy landed, his right arm hanging uselessly off his side. Bruce flopped around without coordination and the child waited, glancing curiously over to Ra's al Ghul for his decision. The old master held up his hand in turn.

The tension dissolved out of the boy's frame as the match was called; all parties watching as Bruce reassembled his wits. The man clutched at his head, shaking out the cobwebs of the impact even as Ranma's original instructor stepped to his student's side to grasp his arm. With a nod, the joint was shoved back into place expertly, if not without the grimace of pain.

"You underestimated your opponent." Ra's began as Bruce finally managed to return to a standing position, coughing. A gash of blood trickled down his face and new bruises now accompanied the old. "Today, the young one had the will to act; the will to sacrifice his own arm in order to deliver a decisive blow. The time it took you to recover would have been more than enough to eliminate you from the field of battle."

"Yes, sensei." The Wayne acknowledged humbly, still staring at the boy as he rotated his shoulder as if to work it back into place.

"That was fun." Ranma grinned, then cocked his head as he realized another injury. He touched his busted lip, taking the blood on his fingertips in stride. "Maybe not that part, though."

"I expect to see more ninjitsu in your form next time." Ra's al Ghul requested patiently of the child, who nodded respectfully in turn.

"Yes, sensei."

"Walk with me, Bruce." The older man ordered as he took his leave of the child and his instructor. The younger man fell in step behind him as Ra's sympathized aloud. "You would not be the first in these halls to fall to the boy, nor the last. He is a prodigy in his own right."

The Wayne heir remained silent as they finally found the dojo's outlet. A guard swathed in black armor similar to Ra's own slid the door open for the old man. The leader of the League paused, favoring his protégée a measured look. "That being said, he was exactly what he believed himself to be—The best. Even if you were to beat him, I doubt that outlook would change. Perhaps if you had opted for the knockout instead of the hold initially you may have beaten him, but your heart is weak. He did what was necessary to achieve absolute victory. You did not."

The Caucasian man stood silently by for a moment as his thoughts on the matter churned against a mixture of wounded ego and and contemplation as his master continued. Ra's al Ghul waited for the concept to sink in before driving it home. "And that, more than anything, is why you are not as ready as you think you are."

With that, Bruce Wayne watched as the door slid shut behind the leader of the League of Assassins.

* * *

 **Author's Notes-** Well, yeah. I guess this is a thing. Like Starwars, every once in a while I get the urge to write a hero fic and the most obvious franchises to facilitate that are Marvel and DC. I know marvel is spamming cinema right now, but I couldn't help it. First, i love the plot hook and second, I think DC fits him a tad better, not that you can't make a case either way. My Hero Academia was briefly considered on Fan Fiction Federation, but by the time i even considered it, this fic was much further along and there are certain problems getting Ranma into that fandom, mainly it smells a lot like foxcat. Since I mentioned the F-word, yes, it's alive. So is Hild. But my muse is unpaid and goes where it likes, so nyeh.

 **Continuity-** First, can we agree that it's a mess? DC has tried to take a stab at cleaning it up, but it's still all over the place between old, new and animations. I hope you won't hate me for picking an choosing.

 **F3-** Thanks to people at FanfictionFederation and too many people there to list. They watch with varying degrees of patience as a vacillate back and forth over plot devices, costumes (I'm very visual in my mind when I write) and other annoying minutia. I think i've annoyed Weebee enough on IM with this fic and if I say 'bewbs' three times, DCG will come running to help or disparage an idea.

 **Editing-** By me. You get what you pay for :p

 **Jusenkyo Reactor-** I'm trying the ffnet forum thing again. If you want to post, chat, edit, whatever, you can either hit me up on **ozzallos at gmail** or try your hand at **forum/Jusenkyo-Reactor/204450/** where I'll post snippets of upcoming fics, seek advice, and generally annoy you with my delays and ADHD writing schedule. Expectations, yo. You might even find those lemons you've been searching for.

 **Patience-** Thank you for your patience. My schedule goes through varying degrees of freedom in terms of writing and I'm on vacation at the moment. More time for me means more time for you... Unless that means unemployment. Last I checked, that's a bad thing. Rest assured I am alive and I know i haven't worked on _. Speaking of, I have somebody willing to pay for lemons, so...

 _Thanks again. You're all completely awesome. Even you Ranma-chan haters.  
_ _-Ozzallos_


	2. Chapter 2

**Weapon of Choice  
** By Ozzallos

 _Issue #02 – Back in Black_

 **Present Day**

" **N** ow I know that Kanazawa is supposed to be the sister city of Gotham," The Caucasian speaker produced a friendly smirk from atop a decorated podium with the observation, speaking to his audeince in fluent Japanese. The crowd waited with quiet enthusiasm as the billionaire continued, exuding friendly confidence as he did. "But I couldn't ask for a better home for the Japanese division of Waynetech than Tokyo. Thanks to Marusha Industrial, we're about to make that happen."

The assembled mass clapped politely with the charismatic business man's remarks as his executive assistant, a beautiful Japanese woman in a black business petticoat and knee high pencil skirt offered him a pair of scissors. The warm smile she offered with them could easily have been mistaken to have a flirtatious edge to it. Bruce Wayne took them both with an appreciative smile of his own before turning back to another suit standing next to him, continuing his speech.

"Though it would be customary for the CEO to cut the ribbon, I believe it would be more fitting for the Japanese representative of Waynetech to do the honors." The taller man handed the golden scissors over with a polite bow, one reciprocated by the recipient himself. More clapping followed as the man turned back to a long golden ribbon that separated the indoor event from a long assembly line of robotics and other machinery.

 _Snip!_

"The Marusha-Waynetech technical assembly plant is now open!" The man effused as the ribbon parted, earning applause. This time it was more energetic than before as the various businessmen and managers amongst the crowd celebrated. Caterers and guides began to move into position along the various robotics lines even as Bruce took center stage once more.

"Please enjoy the open house," He gestured behind him to the assembly line and the caterers setting up along it. "Likewise the food and drink… I'm not taking any of it home with me."

Polite laughter greeted the joke as he stepped aside to let one of his associates handle the details while he mingled with the crowd. Doing so inevitably exposed him to the press and the gauntlet of questions waiting for him.

"Mister Wayne! Do the troubles in Gotham lend any credence to moving your headquarters elsewhere?"

"I doubt it." Bruce shrugged easily as he explained. "Gotham may be rough around the edges, but that's what keeps us innovating as a company."

More camera flashes illuminated the business executive as the questions continued to pepper him. "Do you see Okamura Industries as competitor?"

"While there are certainly some sectors we compete in, I'd consider it more of a friendly rivalry than outright competition." Bruce smiled for the female reported, much to her delight.

"Will the recent trade tax on foreign goods affect Wayne Enterprises bottom line?" Another question was called out and the reporters watched as the Caucasian man shrugged, seeming not to care one way or the other.

"Trade Taxes always affect the consumer in the end." The executive admitted somewhat ambivalently, then gestured to the assembly line behind him. "Something Wayne Enterprises will fortunately mitigate through local production."

"How will the stock market react—"

"No more questions, please." The woman trailing behind him with a tablet advised, stepping around his person to interpose herself between her employer and the press. She directed their attention to a nearby suit. "Mister Takato will be happy to answer any other questions you may have concerning…"

' _And that's why you hire beautiful assistants,'_ Bruce thought sagely as he watched the curvesque Japanese secretary deftly redirected their attention to a more appropriate recipient… that was to say somebody who wasn't earning seven thousand dollars per minute by simply breathing. He smiled to himself, seemingly admiring the woman's figure through the somewhat conservative business suit she wore before turning to mingle with the rest of the crowd as social etiquette—

"Excuse me, Mister Wayne-dono?"

Bruce blinked, stopping short as a new woman stepped out to greet him. She was younger than the type that typically frequented the event he was usually forced to attend himself, but her buttoned black blazer and gray slacks all but assured him she was in the right place. The bob cut of her brunette hair made it slightly more difficult to place her age accurately, but if he had to make a guess, she was either still in high school or recently graduated. One thing she definitely was not was a reporter.

"What can I do for you, Miss…?" Bruce trailed off with the expectation of her name, willing to indulge her with his time if only to clarify the mystery of her presence.

"Nabiki Tendo." The girl bowed respectfully to him, then held out her hand in deference to recognizing his own cultural norm. He bowed to her and took the handshake in kind, smiling for the out of place teen.

"What can I do for you, Miss Tendo?" Wayne arched an eyebrow, genuinely curious. The girl seemed to fidget slightly in his presence, but seemed determined to hold direct eye contact.

"I… I was wondering," She stumbled with her words slightly, but the man admired the way she held her ground against what had to be an intimidating meeting. "What advice do you have for somebody seeking to be as successful as yourself?"

Bruce arched an eyebrow as the ambitious content of her question was analyzed, especially when compared against her cultural. Women weren't exactly regarded as executive material, yet here this one was. He couldn't help but to admire that sort of drive and decided to reward it. "You mean besides having rich parents?"

Nabiki opened her mouth, but found herself blinking for lack of a reply against the man's unexpected humor. After a moment she recovered with a slight cough to mask her own chuckle. "Ahem… Yes. Besides that, Wayne-dono."

The CEO thought about his answer for a moment and drew from his life experiences… Even some learned from a life best left unmentioned.

"Having rich parents is fine, but the world is full of sharks." Wayne continued even as a small number of the gathered crowd noticed the unlikely interaction between the two. "Trust in yourself first, but you can only go it alone for so long without others you can ally yourself with; people who have _earned_ your trust."

Nabiki nodded, noting that somewhere along the way, the man's carefree attitude had faded to seriousness. He was talking to her as a businessman, not the playboy that usually made the headlines. It was something she almost hadn't expect from the billionaire and therefor carefully committed his every word to memory.

"Accept the fact that betrayal is inevitable, but don't let it stop you." The man cocked his head as his gaze gained a distant look for a moment before returning its focus to the middle Tendo sister. "The moment you do so, be it business or life, they'll have won."

"I… I see." Nabiki replied, not entirely sure that she did. But she would, especially if it meant becoming even half as successful as the man in front of her.

"So now my question to you," A bit of the playboy smile returned, once again illustrating why the man seemed to always have arm candy on hand. Money was simply the aphrodisiac to compliment his rugged charm; charm that the Tendo sister wasn't entirely immune to herself. She let a slight smile of her own slip through the nervousness as he plied his question to her. "How many favors did you have to call in to get invited to this event?"

Nabiki's eyes widened as she nearly chocked, recognizing the fact that she was being called out and teased simultaneously by one of the world's most powerful businessmen. In the end, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she looked away mumbling.

"Ah, all of them."

Bruce's smile widened to her surprise. "Then don't stop on my account."

Again, the girl was surprised at what amounted to the billionaire's cart-blanche approval of what was effectively a self-invite. By the time she recovered her wits enough to formulate some suitable talking point, his super model executive assistant had stepped to his side, gesturing to the tablet before turning her attention to the younger girl. "I'm sorry, Mister Wayne has a pressing schedule."

The Wayne in question shrugged, favoring Nabiki with a half bow as he turned away, but not before a wink accompanied his final advice to her. "And remember, money may not buy happiness, but it makes life much easier."

Nabiki nodded dumbly at the life truth even as she watched him merge with the rest of the crowd to mingle even as the short meeting was replayed over and over in her brain. In fact, she was still amazed at just how successful it had gone. The high school senior turned away with little in the way of mental direction now that her primary goal had been accomplished. Realistically, there really hadn't been a plan beyond the meeting and now the mercenary was at a loss as to how to spend the rest of her time. Her stomach growled obnoxiously and suddenly the catered portion of the venue sounded like the best short term idea. She scanned the area near the assembly lines watching as the help scurried from the side rooms to helpfully plate the—

 _Red._

Nabiki's attention snapped to acquire the figure out of the peripheral of her vision. She had been another waitress, though the red mane was unmistakable. The middle Tendo jockeyed for position through the crowd in order to confirm the brief sighting, but whoever it was, she was gone. The Ice Queen frowned at the unlikely conclusion she had been presented with, shaking her head doubtfully.

There was just no way that was who she thought it was.

* * *

 **I** t was _exactly_ who she thought it was.

Ranma Saotome, heir to the Anything Goes School of Martial Arts was still berating herself with the close call. Whereas Nabiki Tendo had called in every favor she had to get into the event, the martial artist had infiltrated it on his own merits... Or rather _her_ own merits. Those merits specifically included a caterer's uniform and an excuse to justify the need for extra help in order to service the open house.

Playing the audacious flirt when questioned by the manager certainly had helped.

' _Perv.'_ Ranma groused from her rooftop vantage point, now free of the white shirt and black slacks in favor of her vastly more comfortable red silk shirt and black pants. Pervert or not, she knew that the body she wore seemed absolutely suited to exploiting that particular weakness in the men and she ruthlessly used it to her advantage. Instead of walking away with free food, she had departed the event with the name of the hotel her League of Assassins agent was staying at.

The grope she had endured was almost worth it.

For a ninja assassin, however, the man known as Bruce Wayne advertised himself and his wealth to the world as if neither being a ninja or an assassin were a concern. His accommodations at the Imperial was certainly evidence of that, but even she had to admit that hiding in plain sight like that made for great cover even if his very chi didn't read like a normal person. It was, in fact, the same reason she was a curvy redhead instead of the pigtailed gender of her birth at the moment. If the League were as amoral as her father believed, she couldn't afford to have a trail leading back to the Tendos. Nothing was better for that than an identity that could be splashed away with warm water.

And then there was Nabiki.

Ranma glanced back down from the roof at the limo that had ferried her target back to the hotel while replaying the close call in her mind's eye. Spying on her business executive assassin-playboy had been the primary objective; an objective that turned sideways the moment Nabiki Tendo stepped out of the crowd to confront the man. The panic Ranma had felt in that moment had been very real as her own focus shifted from covert observation to the possibility of open confrontation without even the barest clue as to why Akane's sister was facing down a professional killer.

And then she watched the oddest thing happen- The bold, confidence the Ice Queen usually exhibited faltered, melting into…

'… _Hero worship?'_ The redhead postulated with slight disbelief now that she had a chance to analyze the encounter with the benefit of hindsight. The cold, pushy sister was absent in that meeting, replaced by her respectful, if not awed clone. It was so surreal that Ranma herself couldn't help but to stare as the girl interacted with the faux businessman, causing the redhead to hang around just long enough to almost blow her own cover entirely. Even that was inconsequential compared to the fact that she had walked away from the meeting without a scratch, nor had the assassin noticed the person spying on him.

' _Might have to think of some excuse for Nabiki, though,'_ Ranma speculated, all but certain the girl had seen something. Telling her the truth briefly crossed the redhead's mind, but the thought was dismissed outright. Entrusting Nabiki to sensitive information was like entrusting gasoline to fire, and the last thing she needed was another mess to clean up because of the mercenary's overly ambitious tendencies. The martial artist frowned with that particular train of thought and knew the consequences would be much, _much_ worse than bailing her out of a coin operated helicopter.

' _Yeah, that's not going to happen,_ ' The pigtailed girl decided, leaning out of the shadows briefly to get a better angle on the room occupied by one Bruce Wayne. It wasn't the best view she could have gotten, but it was the safest given who she was spying on. The curtains were open and she could see the occasional shadow in the room, assuring her of its occupancy. She watched him pass in front of the window for a moment, seeming to take in the view as he loosened his tie.

' _What to do, what to do…'_ Ranma mulled over the choices present to her. The easy answer to her dilemma was to pay the guy a visit now that she knew where he was staying, which in turn struck her as an incredibly bad idea given the stakes. It would certainly be the most preferable in her eyes, but this was one meeting she couldn't afford to screw up. That left the alternatives. She could follow him around some more, but that in itself was a time consuming process. The redhead shook her head, dismissing the idea. _'More chances to get noticed by him, too.'_

' _Maybe check his room?'_ The martial artist kicked around the possibility watching as the man tossed the tie to the side and— Ranma blinked, her eyes widening as a pair of distinctly feminine arms snaked around his shoulders from behind. She watched the CEO smile, turning to pull the woman into view.

"You gotta be kidding." Ranma mumbled to herself as the woman- this one also Japanese -applied her entire body intimately to his. The redhead's cheeks pinked slightly as his new girlfriend leaned in to take Bruce's lips for herself in full public view. The martial artist shook her head in voyeuristic embarrassment as the woman's fingers dance down his gray dress shirt, unbuttoning it one after the next. "And they complain about me bein' a Don Juan…"

…Nor was he doing anything to reject her advances. If anything, Ranma watched as he encouraged it, reciprocating the kiss while his hands roams her body. The martial artist sighed and leaned back against the wall, wondering just how long her stakeout would last.

As it turned out, the next three hours.

Ranma Saotome yawned, glancing back out from her overhang and into the night of the skyline. The first hour of her surveillance had been… _educational_. Educational in a way that colored her face with a semi-permanent blush as the pair ducked in and out of view with fewer and fewer clothes each time. The second hour wasn't as eventful as the first since they had taken their activities back to the room's interior, but the blush returned with hour number three as the redhead watched the fully nude woman pressed into the glass of the window as she rocked in time with the man behind her.

Her cheek twitched with the lurid display and she leaned back into the wall to wait it out even as her mind tried to decide between being annoyed or fascinated by the length of time they were taking. A yawn marked hour four and finally the blue eyed martial artist noted that the apartment window was dark. The skyline had since darkened as well and the neo-girl knew her presence would be missed back at the dojo. Fortunately, she had an excuse for that… Whether anybody would buy it or not was a different story.

A quick glance down at the limo revealed it to be waiting in the well-lit valet parking section of the hotel's premises. When combined with the presence of his female companion, it likely meant Wayne was still in the room

' _Probably,'_ Ranma hedged as she took into account the fact that she was dealing with a ninja assassin. Konatsu hadn't been the first, nor would he likely be the last she would deal with, and all of them had one thing in common—A propensity for tricks and misdirection. Ranma rocked up from her sitting position, stretching to work the kinks out of her muscles as she considered her next course of action. Gaining entry into the hotel wouldn't likely even be necessary.

' _Work the wall, hit the balcony and take a peek,'_ The redhead decided and was nearly ready to abandon her post when a shadow caught her eye. Her head snapped onto the new vector in order to track the movement that would have been invisible from any other angle. It was…

'… _Flying?'_ Ranma blinked, barely able to pick out the black form as it slipped across the skyline and her field of view. The martial artist frowned at the confluence of unlikely events occurring in the proximity of her stakeout. First, the billionaire playboy that was in reality a League of Assassins agent. Second, a shadow who's origin just happened to be the very same residence as that same agent. She watched the glider set down on the next building, tracking the black cloaked figure as it printed across the rooftop.

The redhead's blue eyes followed the shadow as it launched off the intervening ledge for the next building before briefly glancing back to the window representing the billionaire's room, chewing on her lip with minor indecision. _'Scout the room or track his ninja minion?'_

In reality, it wasn't much of a decision and Ranma stood up, scaling the ledge of her own lookout, down to the first jump-off point. Bruce Wayne appeared to be pretty well occupied. The martial artist rolled her eyes at just how occupied he appeared to be, but focused on the matter at hand as she took to the fire escape and leapt out into the cold open air, flipping upward to conserve height and momentum. She hit next roof soundlessly and took it at a sprint, managing to reach the next ledge just in time to catch the shadow employ some sort of line and hook to negotiate the larger airspace between buildings, filing the fact away as she continued her pursuit.

'… _Maybe even find out what the League's doin' in Tokyo just by followin' this guy,'_ she thought to herself as she took to some of the lower rooftops in lieu of her own convenient rope and grapple. The route was longer but the redhead was well used to the pace and hopped from roof to roof, keeping the airborne shadow in sight. Cool wind tugged at her meager Chinese silks, but it was barely noticed as she landed again, tucking into a roll before resuming her jog without even breaking stride.

Within fifteen minutes, their destination had become a foregone conclusion as the Tokyo metropolis she had been traversing gave way to warehousing and industrial complexes. Cranes and smokestacks billowing dimly lit clouds of carcinogens into the night sky became a common sight as she pursued the ninja deeper into the Keiyō Industrial Area. Ranma watched the gliding shadow singled one warehouse out in particular, angling in to avoid its lighting, then disappear behind a large neon sign that effectively removed the ninja from existence. Two more rooftop hops brought the martial artist into range of the factory as well, allowing her enough pause to decide her next course of action. The ledge of the adjacent building gave her an excellent vantage point of the property as she picked out the details.

' _What the hell's he doing in a place like this?'_ Ranma wondered to herself as she studied the compound below from her own concealed position. Two layers of barbed wire fencing surrounded the complex; its length routinely patrolled by two man units with enough tactical gear to make her think military, sans the firearms.

' _Probably concealed,'_ the martial artist decided as she studied the property with an appraising eye. Long, jutting poles interspersed along the perimeter accommodated clusters of cameras that seemed to cover every manageable angle, likely tied into some system that would alert every guard in the place to a breach. The neogirl cocked her head, trying to determine how the guarded compound related to the shadowy ninja that had just landed within. Her study came to rest upon the closest two man patrol. They weren't ninjas. In fact, the warehouse they guarded didn't exactly scream 'ninja base!' to her… Which meant absolutely nothing.

' _That's what makes it the perfect ninja base, I guess?_ ' Ranma wondered to herself as she plotted her own entry onto the property. Maybe the guys down on the ground didn't even know the place they were guarding was a ninja base. It made sense in a convoluted sort of way the redhead decided and began to move. She didn't have the luxury of gliding in, but entry would be simple and the shadow had the right idea with the rooftop. ' _Go in over the fences, scale the roof, pick up his trail there.'_

All in all, it represented a formidable defense to any potential intruder… unless that intruder had been raised by an amoral father who tended to incite angry mobs with his thievery while claiming that it was excellent stealth and evasion training. The next patrol passed regardless and the redhead was over the fencing with ease, balancing atop one the camera poles in order to exploit the only angle they didn't cover: Straight up. It served as a convenient springboard into the shadows of the property, allowing her to skirt the wall until finding suitable a point from which to ascend to the roof and return to her ninja hunting unimpeded.

' _Almost,'_ she corrected herself as she slipped around a bank of air conditioning units and nearly into the line of sight of another camera array. Ranma backed off with a slight frown and began to pick a path around it while keeping an eye out for Wayne's ninja minion. Having witnessed his descent onto the roof itself, the redhead carefully moved toward his approximate landing zone and after five minutes, hit pay dirt.

' _Gotcha.'_ Ranma thought smugly as she knelt beside the single open ventilation grate that undoubtedly represented her mark's method of entry. With it came the realization that the building she now stood atop likely wasn't a League of Assassins base since it was tough to imagine a ventilation shaft as the official secret entrance. The thought also cause the martial artist a frown as she considered the alternatives _. '…That only leaves theft, kidnapping and murder.'_

 _Thunk!_

"Check the west side!"

"Team Bravo coming up stairwell C14!"

"Sweep those AC units!"

Ranma threw herself to the side just as a door slammed open and a high lumen beam of light swept over her position, scanning the corridor of ventilation she had just vacated before locking on to the open vent itself.

"I've got an open grate!" Another voice called out as Ranma listened from the shadows less than five meters from the discovery.

"Two man teams!" The next ordered and the beams of light swept closer to her position behind the air conditioner block. "Stay sharp! He might still have an accomplice up here!"

The redhead cursed to herself, glancing longingly back toward the ledge fifteen meters away and directly within their line of sight. Stealthing her way past the line of men driving themselves toward her position was no longer an option and from the sound of it, Wayne's ninja had pissed off whoever owned the place.

' _Another thing to thank the guy for,'_ She thought in an acerbic tone as she considered her options. Short of dusting off the forbidden schools, her discovery was inevitable and she didn't want to tip her hand unless she absolutely had to. A searching light swept over her cover as the martial artist chewed on the dilemma. Ranma's study scanned her immediate vicinity and stopped with a slight smile as her gaze fell upon a small stone at her feet.

Sometimes you just had to keep it simple.

The rock was airborne almost from the moment she scooped it up, tossed over her shoulder into the dark at random. There was no target, nor need of one. It was bound to hit something and the loud, metallic clank did that, piercing the dark. The sudden clatter had exactly the effect she had hoped for—Flashlights swung away from her position and the martial artist was out, darting across the open space and into the adjacent vent that her assassin minion had presumably used to gain entry into the facility.

The large ventilation shaft easily accommodated her small frame and Ranma slid in and down even as the opening behind her was illuminated once more.

' _Too slow,'_ she smirked mentally as the neo-girl dropped through darkness, occasionally braking her momentum with her feet against the side of the shaft. A dim service lamp illuminated the silhouette of large industrial fan, prompting Ranma to arrest her descent entirely before dropping into it. The martial artist slid lightly onto the ledge above its blades, noting the entire unit had been tangled to immobility by a length of high tensile strength cable. The redhead took a moment to admire the ninja's handiwork before carefully lowering herself through the blades as well.

The ventilation shaft below was a steep slope down into the darkness and represented only a minor inconvenience until a faint voice echoed down the shaft to accompany the dim light from above.

" _Fire in the hole!"_

The memories of a childhood spent on the road flashed before her eyes, while the words themselves isolated one in particular. Her father had called it _'Hand Grenade Jutsu'_ and itbore an uncanny resemblance to Happosai's penchants for large pyrotechnic explosions. The general concept was similar to a game of hot-potato, in that the one holding the hand grenade last, lost… And judging by the metallic reverberation from above, the aforementioned potato was tumbling down to kick her ass.

' _Shit!'_ Ranma groused as she considered the only option left available to her before letting gravity take its natural course. She tucked her arms and legs in, depriving herself of the only anchor holding her in place and fell into black even as a small cylindrical objected tumbled less than a second behind her. It rebounded off the tangled ventilation fan like a basketball grazing a hoop before detonating.

Ranma's freefall into darkness was instantly illuminated by a violent flash and a quick glance up reminded her why she hated Hand Grenade Jutsu while a confined fireball raced down to meet her. She bounced gracelessly off the wall as the shaft veered left, finally allowing her a glimpse of salivation in the form of a backlit register vent below. The only question was which would reach her first—The fireball or the vent she'd have to plow through to escape. The redhead winced as both approached all too rapidly.

And to think some people grew up with normal childhoods.

* * *

 **B** ruce Wayne appreciated the Japanese culture.

Had anybody asked, he would have told them that he admired the economic grace of its people and their ability to uphold ancient traditions in the modern day, balancing them against the omni present crush of progress. There was an obsessive level of artistry present in nearly every aspect of their society that he appreciated, and it didn't hurt that he had the monetary wealth to enjoy it.

Bruce Wayne was not the one present in the Keiyō warehouse, however. In his place stood someone else entirely; a caped figure clad in black body armor; his identity hidden by a full cowl save his lower face. From the shadows, it would have been easy to mistake the person for a demon, especially within the country he now stood. The sharpened points of his mask superficially resembled horns, lending his appearance more toward that of a mythical Japanese oni than the urban legend he was more commonly known as.

Unlike the Japanese demon of lore, The Batman had not been summoned to Tokyo way by magical circles or human sacrifice, but instead by the contents of the warehouse. There was no artistry to appreciate here, no modern day traditions to be upheld except for one: Criminal enterprise. It was a universal language understood in every nation, and for all its beauty, the Land of the Rising Sun was no different. Here, it was the Yakuza that held sway, plying their craft while the Triad and Bratva nipped at their heels for business.

It was that business that interested the Dark Knight, specifically the business surrounding the cache of crates surrounding him in the dimly lit storage facility. Each one was a sealed steel container whose contents were held secure by an electronic lock…A lock that served as no barrier whatsoever to Batman's access. A small disk slipped between the fingers of his armored glove and he plied it to lock itself, just left of the keypad. A thin LED dial lit up along the device's circumference, its blue glow slowly progressing clockwise. The digital lock beside it seemed to go haywire with its progress, the red numbers of its numeric display flashing through a multitude of combinations before finally settling on a single combination. The circular device deactivated, allowing its owner to retrieve it in one hand while the other proceeded to input the code now helpfully provided by the lock itself. The keypad beeped its compliance and clicked, dutifully popping the two latches that held the pelican case closed.

Batman slowly lifted the containers lid open, revealing the seemingly mundane contents presumably mirrored by the other hundred containers around him. What looked like a high tech hypodermic injection device was safely imbedded in gray foam. To its right sat several transparent cases the size of his hand, and within them, tiny golden dots the size of a pinhead. His hand was just about to remove one of the plastic packs when a door crashed open at his back followed by the furious sound of boots moving into position around him. Japanese language frantically echoed through the warehouse and it didn't take his sort of genius to realize multiple weapons were being training on him.

"Go! Go!"

"That's him!"

"If he so much as breathes…!"

"Three, in position!"

"Find what you're looking for?" A deeper baritone questioned in clipped English. Silence was the only reply to his querie as the caped crusader remained motionless, his back toward the speaker. The unseen voice sighed. "Then at least do me the small favor and remove yourself from the proximity of my merchandize."

"So you don't damage any when your men shoot me?" The deep rumble of the caped crusader's rhetorical question echoed around the warehouse. Moreover, it was in perfect Japanese, causing the man to smile.

"It would be incredibly inconvenient." The man at his back admitted, his tone of voice almost sounding apologetic.

Even unseen, Batman had calculated the position of most of his attacker. There were ten, not including the man he was holding a conversation with. They were all almost certainly armed with firearms regardless of how rare their proliferation was supposed to be in the country he was now visiting. His right hand slipped to his utility belt while the cape on his back covered the movement from sight. Four reflective steel orbs were pulled from one of the pouches as he used conversation to buy time.

"That worried about yabisume?" Batman wondered aloud and he could almost feel the unseen presence at his back shaking his head.

"Oh no," The man- almost certainly the boss of the operation he had penetrated –corrected patiently. "Failure here would be much worse than the loss of a finger."

' _Which means your handlers are more ruthless than the Yakuza,'_ The Dark Knight supplied mentally as he tried to reconstruct the supply chain in his head. His detective work had started at the point of sale in Gotham, back-tracking individual electronic components to Japanese manufacturers. The middlemen and the developers in that supply chain were still unknowns—Unknowns he was hoping to unearth tonight.

"It would be a shame, but I'll take the loss." The voice decided. Batman heard the shuffle of feet as they took more active stances against his position. "Hell, killing you would more than likely elevate my status within the clan."

"Who would go through the trouble to kill a lowly Yakuza lieutenant just for a damaged case of drugs?" The Bat wondered aloud, as if trying to figure it out himself. Of course, those weren't drugs in the case. They were worse.

Much worse.

"Drugs? You must be joking." The man all but laughed, as if reading the Dark Knight's mind. In reality, he had taken the conversational bait and continued talking. "This is weapons testing. Drugs are small time compared to this operation."

' _With Gotham as the proving ground,'_ The cloaked figure surmised silently as more pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Weapons testing implied an organized structure collecting and organizing data. The amount of 'weapons' within reach indicated resources well beyond the Yakuza and at this point, he wasn't doubting government involvement of some sort. A frown was Batman's only visible indication of emotion as he pondered just which government to assign guilt to.

Low mumbling from one of the men behind him caught the Bat's attention, followed by the boss giving intelligible orders before continuing aloud. "And now we have your accomplice pinned on the roof. Today is not looking like a good day for you, Batman-san."

The Dark Knight had just finished detaching his grappling hook from the belt when the news caused him pause. None of the family had followed him to Japan for this mission. Not even the Justice League was privy to the details of—

 _ **BOOM!**_

Fire violently ripped an overhead ventilation shaft apart, finally causing Batman to whirl around to track the figure of a girl in freefall from the inferno. She flipped upright at the last moment, landing in a crouch between himself and the line of Yakuza that had surrounded him while pieces of flaming sheet metal crashed around her. It was as if she had been deposited there by a portal from hell itself, yet she appeared completely unharmed.

Superficially, the Dark Knight noted she was an unlikely mix of Japanese heritage and crimson red hair, while her fashion statement just as unlikely, consisting of black pants and a red silk mao shirt. Neither garment had escaped the blast unscathed, featuring numerous burns and scorches that the redhead was attempting to put out even as she drew up from the crouch she had landed in. The fact that she had survived the fall, let alone the blast didn't go unnoticed either. His initial impression of her aerobatics was that she was at least minimally skilled, while her durability pointed to the distinct possibility that she was a metahuman.

What she was actually doing here was an even bigger mystery, especially since the Yakuza themselves didn't seem to be expecting her either.

"Goddamn hand grenade jutsu…"

Both parties watched her pat down a small smoldering patch eating away the silk of her sleeve, then suddenly pause to look up, as if only now noticing she was being watched. Her blue eye gaze wandered from the black monolithic figure that she had been stalking for half the night to the Yakuza and their bald leader, a man in a business suit and an incredibly complex tattoo of a dragon wandering up the left side of his head. Somehow, it didn't come as any surprise that every last one of them was armed with some sort of firearm, nor the fact they were already pointed in her direction.

The redhead looked back at the cloaked man as if trying to decided what to do, then turned back to the Yakuza with a fake, overacted smile. "I'm not with him?"

If he hadn't been wearing the mask, the skeptical eyebrow Bruce arched would have been readily apparent.

The Yakuza boss simply shook his head. "Enough. Kill them both."

"Shit!" Ranma yelped in alarm, putting her fullest measure of speed into pirouette in order to remove herself from the line of fire even as the black cloaked ninja behind her dropped low, smashing one of the steel balls into the ground. A gout of white smoke aggressively expanded around him even as the first rounds of nine-millimeter buried themselves into the crates behind him. His cape shuttered violently with the impact of a bullet while another glanced off his spinal plating. The light concussive thud of his grappling hook being deployed was muted by the gunfire and suddenly there was nothing left in the cloud to kill.

The shooting continued anyway.

The redheaded martial artist scrambled along the crated, barely remaining ahead of the sheet of lead trying to make a more intimate acquaintance with herself. Sparks and ricochets punctuated each evasive maneuver until she seemed to run out of space between the wall and the cases. She slowed fractionally and the gun fire bracketed her, seeming to abruptly perforate—

-A red shirt.

It floated to the ground, full of holes even as the Yakuza boss and his men stared in disbelief. He glanced back at the dissipating cloud of smoke, not finding a body there either. The tattooed man snarled, dropping the magazine on his gun to reload it. "Spread out! They've got to still be here!"

He was right, of course.

Ranma hugged the profile of a nearby pillar as the boss's angry order to shoot anything that moved echoed through the warehouse, her stricken moa shirt lying I shambles only a few meters away. It had been one of her favorites, but its sacrifice was a necessary one. The white tank top she had worn beneath it was now her outerwear, paying it little mind as her brain whirled with the new developments concerning the ninja. Ranma mentally scratched the warehouse being a secret hideout off her list even as she peeked out from around the pillar, watching as the Yakuza enforcers stalk through the columns of crates while the boss himself warily meandered over to her bullet riddled shirt to inspect it. Whatever the relationship was between Wayne's ninja and the men here, it definitely wasn't friendly with shoot to kill apparently being the order of the day.

' _Yay, me,'_ Ranma rolled her eyes in sarcasm, not particularly appreciating how many of her father's life lessons were being reenacted in the here and now.

The quick glance did not reveal the ninja, however, at least not until she searched upward. The redhead crooked a smile as she found him waiting in the shadows of the steel rafters. His positioning alone told Ranma enough about his next move. A skylight and more ventilation was easily accessible from the ninja's location, yet he had yet to move toward either. He was going to stay.

Which meant she was going to stay as well. Sure, she could leave just as easily, but then she'd still be in the dark as to why Wayne or his ninja were in Tokyo to begin with. Even as she considered the dilemma, he glanced in her direction, making direct eye contact with a piercing stare. Ranma held it just long enough to acknowledge the obvious—Both knew where the other was hiding. The only question now was what to do about it. Sooner the search would bring the gunmen to her pillar and she would be forced to act…

The black clad man above her held his hand out and she almost missed the three silver spheres dropping down into the men arrayed below his position.

' _Ninja tricks,'_ Ranma's brain identified their meaning in the split second of free fall. It also presented an opportunity. If she was going to get answers, this would have to be a private meeting. Without gunfire.

The metallic tick of their impact was barely noticed. What was noticed was the explosive smoke cloud suddenly enveloping their position, reducing visibility to zero. The martial artist smiled. Good thing she wouldn't be needing the visibility. Smoke roiled around her and the martial artist closed her eyes, swinging out from the pillar and into her first target even as a wave front of air pressure was perceived to her right, representing the ninja's touchdown. Ranma stayed low and isolated her first victim. They were all making more than enough noise to precisely locate and the redhead moved into grapple. That handhold was all it took to identify what she had a hold of before locking the wrist and forcing the pistol from his grasp. By the time it was clattering to the deck, she was well inside any guard he could assemble, dislocating his left kneecap with a kick while reversing the arm at the shoulder, sending him through backwards flip.

Metallic click. Danger-close.

Ranma threw herself down and toward the imminently recognizable sound of a firearm being prepped for action, immediately barreling into the haplessly blind solider. Three deafening cracks sounded off, prompting the scream of a mis-targeted henchman even as the girl's ears were set to ringing. Her legs tangled with his in a scissors maneuver, instantly bringing him down to her level and dislodging the rifle from his grasp. Her foot anchored into his armpit and she yanked, dislocating it with a sickening pop. The man attempted to roll out in agony, only to receive a savage open palm strike to the side of his face. Consciousness fled the Yakuza brother abruptly.

By victim number four, the smoke had lost density, enabling her to more accurate gauge the melee in progress. On her right flank, the ninja was making good time. His first strike advantage allowed him the luxury of being able to pick the method of attack and order of targets in advance. Two men went down with his drop, both victims of debilitating strikes aided by the force of gravity behind them. A third was just close enough to make out his shadow and the Dark Knight reached in at his weapon, yanking it and the yakuza man into melee range. His target managed a single squeeze of the trigger, firing of a round before being relieved of the weapon and taking a right cross to the face. The Yakuza thug spun once, then twice before collapsing.

Ranma's intellect was already devouring the details of his style even as she engaged her next victim, batting away his gun before it could play a part in the fight. The ninja used an amalgam of taekwondo, ninjitsu and some other arts that retained a remarkable degree of flexibility in spite of the heavy armor the fighter preferred. The brand of ninjitsu, however, was unmistakable. Memories of a monastery fortress were briefly recalled as she maneuvered her opponent into an arm lock, rolling around behind him while landing debilitating punches into his flank every step of the way.

The Yakuza stumbled drunkenly, barely able to retain his consciousness by the time the redhead allowed him to stagger away… but she wasn't done with him quite yet. Ranma was going to use him to send a message. The redhead lowered her center of gravity and slid her feet into a slightly wider forward stance that implied a more aggressive combat style.

Her fingers flexed into a pair of rigid knife edges and she surged forward.

* * *

 **T** o say he was impressed was perhaps an overstatement. Batman didn't _get_ impressed. But the girl was certainly capable, which he found intriguing when combined with the unknowns surrounding her presence. There would be time to confront those unknowns later, however. For now, his most immediate concern was the gunman on his flank, just beyond hand to hand combat range. Instead of trying to race the bullet, the Dark Knight abruptly raised his arm to sight a device on the thug. He pulled the trigger as soon as his arm leveled off and two wired probes shot out with a hiss, as if the wired probes they dispensed were snakes in and of themselves. Two million volts later, the epileptic man dropped to the concrete even as Batman's fist found the gut of his next victim.

 _The red blur._

The caped crusader almost missed his own follow-up combination as his attention was diverted to the redhead. Like himself, she was heavily engaged on her own front, kicking ass and taking names. How she was kicking ass and taking names was now his focus.

' _League ninjutsu?"_ Batman boggled for a moment as he held his own victim in a choke hold, watching as the girl flowed through a lethal combination of pressure-point strikes that instantly debilitated her target. The man lurched over as if hit by a freight train and the redhead was already inside the guard of her next target, dismantling the yakuza brother with a style of martial arts Batman knew all too well.

It only created more questions. If she was with the League, why was she here? The possibility of the shipment being a League of Assassins operation briefly crossed his mind, but ran headlong into the fact that the girl was fighting them as well. Another detail featured prominently as he watched her dispense with another victim.

' _She hasn't killed one of them yet…'_ The Dark Knight observed as she dropped another attacker. That alone was perhaps the biggest discrepancy. League of Assassins Ninjutsu was a quick, violent art distilled through the centuries with one goal in mind—Maximizing lethality. This girl was the very epitome of that: Speed, grace and violence, however unlikely she seemed dressed for it. What she wasn't was lethal. Combinations that should have ended in her victim's death were pulled in favor of disabling blows, diverging further from the League's means to an end combat doctrine.

A blue gaze quickly flicked over to his own, making eye contact briefly before another man within close proximity dropped. Batman couldn't help but to feel there was a message for him in there, somewhere, but lacked the context to decipher it. Odder still, she looked familiar somehow.

Instead of dwelling on it, he tossed his oxygen deprived combatant aside and dropped into a roll, avoiding the sharp crack of gunfire seeking to meet his person. The offending barrel came within reach and the Detective yanked on it hard. The yakuza man predictably declined to yield the weapon which in turn altered his center of gravity directly into his opponent's armor-plated fist. The man staggered, but Batman stayed with him, raining blows into his torso, then promptly dislocating his kneecap with his boot. His opponent fell with a scream until the demon's knee met his falling chin, rendering him unconscious.

A quick glance at back to the redhead indicated that she had run out of bodies herself. Her last challenger pointed a gun in her direction, which she grabbed even before it leveled off, deftly manipulating the weapon's takedown lever and removing the slide from the firearm itself. Her combatant had the presence of mind to pull a long knife from his jacket, only to have the hand intercepted and broken at the wrist. His scream punctuated the knife's fall to the ground while she continued to apply pressure to the break, twisting it until the yakuza thug submitted to the pain and fell to his knees. The girl rolled her eyes at his pathetic squealing, finally releasing this hand.

"I'd haul ass if I were you."

And he did. The crippled Yakuza ran past his shell-shocked boss and made it halfway across the warehouse floor before a batarang arced in from the side, slamming him in the head to render him unconscious. The redhead favored Batman with a putout look, but the Dark Knight had other things on his mind and turned his attention to last man standing.

"Who ordered the testing?" Batman's question came out in a low, menacing tone augmented by the digital scrambling of his voice.

The tattooed boss's gaze flicked from the bodies, to the redhead and back to Batman in fear, prompting him to step back against a wall of bullet riddled cases.

"Fuck… Fuck you!" The leader spat and reached into his coat. The gun Batman was expecting didn't materialize. Instead the man palmed one of the high-tech syringes, jabbing its point into his arm as if to threaten the pair. "I already told you—there are things worse than yubitsume!"

"I know. _I'm one of them."_ The Batman growled and lurched for the man who flinched backwards. Ranma watched the ninja's charge, bodily tackling the tattooed boss to isolate the hand bearing the cylindrical tool. It went skittering across the floor as the Dark Knight hauled him up by the collar, snarling into his face like the nightmare he appeared to be. "TALK."

"They'll kill me!" The boss squealed as he tried to wrench himself away from the Bat. He sent a pleading look toward the redhead, who merely offered an uncaring shrug as she watched. "You have no idea who you're dealing with!"

Batman seemed to care even less than the redhead and began to drag the man over to the nearest open crate, finally allowing his victim to drop next to it. The yakuza boss cowered at his feet as the Dark Knight palmed one of the syringes for himself, popping the blunt end open to load it with the small waffers from the other package. After five, he paused, glancing down at the terrified man.

"My research indicates the nanites enhance the body by forced genetic manipulation." Batman began, staring a hole into his victim before returning his attention to loading more of the tiny chips into the syringe. "The problem is that the more you inject, the less stable the augmentation becomes. Three doses usually guarantees a fatal mutation. The victim suffers a slow, agonizing death through uncontrollable cellular mitosis."

He paused, staring down at the man as if he were the specter of death himself. "I've loaded this injector with _twelve._ "

A slight frown found its way to Ranma's face as she watched the interrogation take place. While she was all for a little ass-kicking after being shot at, torturing people for information wasn't something she signed up for, let alone watch them die a slow, painful death if the ninja was to be believed. Granted, he hadn't killed anybody in the fight, but an unspoken 'yet' seem to accompany the assassin's every move.

A graceless shuffle interrupted her thoughts, drawing her attention to a person behind her. One of the Yakuza henchmen regained consciousness, still very much injured and barely managing to prop himself up into a kneeling position. His left hand had already closed around the injector his boss had dropped, anchoring it to the opposite bicep. Before she could even recognize its significance, the half-conscious man thumbed a button.

"AAHHHH _ **HHAAAR!**_ "

The scream sounded like it had been ripped from the man's throat, instantly interrupting Batman's interrogation as he turned to watch the man's frame dissolve into epileptic seizure. The tremors held for a moment before passing as abruptly as they had manifested themselves, leaving the henchman panting, but in control of his own body. A faint orange glow began to flicker around his body and with it, a malevolent smile. He raised his gaze to meet the pair.

His eyes were on fire.

The teenage neo-girl boggled at the sight, unsure of what to make of the sudden manifestation. None of the fighters she had just so recently faced were anything special, but this one was now generating what looked like a battle aura. Ranma took a quick glance over to the ninja, hoping for a quick answer, but the black clad assassin's attention was riveted on the glowing henchman.

" _Yessss..."_ He growled as literal flames seemed to burn within his very eye sockets. The thug held his arms out and they spontaneously combusted into fire up to his shoulders. He seemed to marvel at his new appendages for a moment before pointing his left hand at Ranma and the right at Batman. His arms flared into brilliance.

"Oh, come on!" Ranma balked aloud, throwing herself to the left even as a winding sheet of flame lashed overhead. Her counterpart chose to shelter in place, throwing the black cape around his body as flames consumed his position. The situation was all too reminiscent of Saffron as she watched the man fully ignite, as if burning alive, but not.

"I'll kill you both!" The man screamed with a hysterical pitch to his voice, using the firestorm to lash at his victims as if he were wielding two individual whips. The redhead ducked behind a stack of crates, only to watch as the top third of its mass was melted away by the writhing pyre seeking to reduce her to ash. She kicked one out toward the burning man, only to watch him induce the writhing fire to change course and intercept the metal container in-flight. It melted to slag within moments and the fire was back upon the martial artist like an incandescent serpent.

Batman, on the other hand, was pinned. Though he had placed a barrier between himself and the unnatural fire, that barrier was only good to two-thousand degrees for a whole ten seconds before it failed. Even now his glowing cape was radiating orange heat into his body like an oven and only four seconds remained before that oven turned into a flamethrower.

A quick glance over at the girl revealed what he needed to do. She was dancing through the coils of fire with impossible grace, thus far untouchable. Like her, he needed room to maneuver. Batman looked up toward the rafters and the second part of his plan formed as he unclipped the cape from his back with two seconds left. He spun around abruptly, hurling it into the now incandescent Yakuza whose jets of fire tracked and melted the garment in flight. That moment of distraction had cost him, however. The Dark Knight was on the move.

He detached three batarangs from his belt as he rolled out of the line of fire, hurling them upwards into the ceiling. Three metallic pings represented their impact and suddenly…

… _Rain._

While his strike hadn't compromised the entire fire sprinkler system, the three holes overhead was enough to saturate their immediate area with water, causing the fiery man to steam. More importantly, his burning appendages began to lose potency. The yakuza looked confused for a moment before his face took on a look of concentration. His whips flared indecisively as the indoor shower continued to suck away at their strength.

It was the opening Ranma needed.

Suddenly becoming a human torch had caught her off guard and the similarities to Saffron were uncanny, but the man before her was exactly that—Just a man; A thug with a gimmick. Though he seemed to instinctively know how to use his new power, he obviously wasn't especially skilled at it and worse, he was fighting an opponent who had faced both fire and whips far too many times to count wielded by people vastly more skilled in their use.

The martial artist sidestepped the next looping coil, capitalizing on the man's distract state to charge him directly. The surprised Yakuza diverted his incendiary lash from Batman to focus both on the redhead, only to watch her side step one coil and jump through another. The horizontal slice missed as well and suddenly she there in front of him, crystalline blue eyes hanging before him.

"It's called Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire for a reason, asshole." Ranma declared as she floated into range and unloaded. The living inferno never saw the punches that traced their way across his body, each agonizing in their own right. Some were meant to merely deprive her target of oxygen. Others found pressure points with unerring precision. His left arm felt like it had been disconnected from his body even though the girl should have been suffering from first and second degree burns from merely touching him.

The Yakuza staggered and he reached out with a flaming hand to stop her, only to feel a sharp stab of pain as it was broken at the wrist and batted away by another invisible strike. Another pulverized his ribs and his fire flickered, fading out from one moment to the next as he staggered back, barely able to maintain an upright stance.

Ranma stepped back, crossing her arms across her bosom as if to admire her handiwork while the thug wobbled on two legs, then collapsed to one, kneeling. The burning coals that represented his eyes finally guttered out, leaving only a confused expression of fear on his face before collapsing a moment later with steam rolling off his body.

The redhead simply nodded, theatrically brushing her hands off against the other. "And that's the end of today's lesson.

"What do you want?"

The digitally enhanced rumble of the ninja's voice prompted Ranma to turned around, finding him already squared off opposite her position. It was also her first good look at the man beyond his black suit. She had already seen the bag of tricks he kept in the yellow utility belt, for instance, but now the details came into focus. His suit, for example, wasn't the metal she first thought it was, but a series of flexible plates. The black stencil of a bat featured predominantly across his chest, though there was one specific detail that drew the entirety of her attention.

His face.

The majority of it was covered by the same material that protected the rest of his body, save the lower face. His jaw, lips and chin were completely exposed and now Ranma couldn't help but to stare, her gaze narrowing on those features as a series of unlikely connections were made. Wayne's ninja was Caucasian. Bruce Wayne, his League of Assassins master, was as well. In fact, they looked pretty damn similar.

' _Can't tell the eyes through those slits,'_ She admitted, resisting the urge to take a step forward for a closer look _. 'Even the build's about right if ya take away all the padding…'_

Wayne's ninja wasn't Wayne's ninja at all.

He _was_ Wayne.

It was exactly the meeting she had been hoping for, just not how she ever expected it happen. It also left her at a loss as to what to do with him since the League of Assassins operative hadn't assassinated anybody at all. Like herself, he was using a mixture of martial arts and even though League ninjutsu featured predominantly, he had pulled every last punch just as she had. On the other hand, the Yakuza punks they had dropped appeared to be trafficking some really nasty shit.

Her study wandered briefly to the unconscious- formerly incandescent -henchman, then his boss crumpled up behind the ninja. Still, she had to be sure. Ranma nodded toward the unconscious boss. "Whatcha plannin' on doing with him?"

The masked man seemed to consider the redhead for a moment before answering in the same menacing tone. "Get answers."

In the end, it wasn't exactly something Ranma could fault him for. Hell, she wanted to know why the guy just suddenly burst into flames herself, but this particular meeting was neither the time nor place for that. She was here for one reason and one reason only.

"Not sure what you're doing here, but if the League of Assassins is gonna start something in Tokyo, I'll be back to finish it," Ranma began without preamble, her gaze boring back into the man's own stare. The ninja frowned with her ultimatum. It seemed like the right moment to deliver her coup de gras as she turned to walk away. "I'll be watchin' you… _Wayne-san."_

The slight stiffening of his body told Ranma she had hit the mark as she crouched, making the leap up into the rafters to balance precariously on one of the supports. She glanced back down, only to find the ninja's penetrating stare riveted on her. Ranma favored him with a cocky smirk and walked the iron like a balance beam to the skylight, throwing it open to disappear into the night.

 _Now_ Batman was impressed.

* * *

 **Author's Notes-** And away we go! Like I said, I can't help but to love the plot hook, which probably explains my current obsession with this fic. I have to admit to some cheating since I have nearly 40k words on file currently that I'll eventually get around to releasing. Want to see more stuff? Let's talk. **wwwfanfictiondotnet/** **forum/Jusenkyo-Reactor/204450/** seems like a good place, or I'm available at **ozzallosatgmail.**

Do I really need to explain how you're going to have to parse those addresses out?  
And yes, goddamnit I'm back. Like John Wick. Except with fewer guns and less money.

 **Don Juan-** I've never seen a clear answer to this one: What does Bruce do with all those beautiful women hanging around him? Well, you can tell I'm assuming he plays with them as part of his Wayne persona. I've seen arguments where he parties with them and shows the door, or that he drugs them to fall asleep, letting them assume they had a good time. It strikes me that word would get around with either of the latter, leading to my choice even though there's no wrong answer to this near as i can tell.

Hope you're liking this so far, you single chapter hold judgement until there's more doubter type people ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Weapon of Choice  
** By Ozzallos

 _Issue #03 – Land of Confusion_

 **NINE Years Ago**

 **B** ruce Wayne dropped onto the wooden bench as an almost boneless heap, his body a patchwork of bruises and scrapes that looked worse in the flickering lantern light that filled the meager living quarters. Pain coursed through his muscles with every movement, but it was a shared pain. He glanced over to the black haired boy nearly three times younger as he winced, wrapping up his forearm with bandage. The Wayne heir shook his head with a chuckle at the Japanese boy's bedraggled state.

"Nice to know Ra's doesn't play favorites."

The child seemed to take a moment to process his words before responding by bobbing his head. "Sensei almost bad like Ojisan."

This time it took the Wayne heir a moment to process the boy's statement, which brought with it its own slight incredulity as he turned it over in his mind. _'His father… worse than Ra's?'_

The adult watched for a moment as the child untied his tunic and lifted it off overhead, revealing the same bruising that he himself undoubtedly bore. The boy's back harbored an unusual twist, however—Scars. They were faint, but there was no mistaken the patterns that traced up and down his back, as if he had been ravaged by an animal of some sort. With them came a thought…

…maybe the kid wasn't exaggerating.

"Why are you here, anyway?" Bruce wondered aloud, now even more curious as to the child's presence. To his knowledge, Ranma was the only boy his age in the mountain fortress and a special exception given everything he had heard to date. A bright, self-assured smile met his inquiry.

"To be the best!"

It wasn't the first time the adult had heard that proclamation and he doubted it would be the last. It prompted a smile as his sparring sessions with the boy were recalled. Some he had won, some he had lost. Either way, the Japanese boy represented a plethora of surprises for the unwary. In the end, Ra's had taken to rooming them together.

Bruce was certain there was a lesson in that somewhere he had yet to divine.

"The best, right." The heir nodded patiently with Ranma's rote answer and attempted to put a finer point on the question. "But why here? This isn't exactly the kind of place where fathers drop their kids off."

The black haired boy paused, fixing his roommate with a confused look. "It's not?"

…Which told Bruce volumes about Ranma's upbringing. Apparently, side trips to assassin monasteries to learn martial arts was the rule, not the exception in this boy's life. Bruce took off his own shirt, reaching for a wad of cloth bandages as he chuckled. "Okay, maybe some of us are starting later in life."

The smile reappeared, though Bruce could tell he hadn't quite gotten the joke. Instead of explaining it, the Wayne heir pushed for more details concerning the boy's life. "The best, I got that. But why?"

Ranma had busied himself with setting out clean clothes on the straw mat that represented his bed, but his answer came out with just as much self-assurance as his proclamation to be the best. "A martial artist's duty is ta protect the weak."

Bruce Wayne's efforts to wrap his arm stalled as he watched the boy continue his chores. As unlikely as it sounded, the boy's very words struck at the business heir's core. Bruce cocked his head, determined to probe the child's beliefs further. "Protect the weak, huh?"

"Yep!" Ranma piped, turning back to him with a bright smile. "At least that's what my Ojisan says, and he's always right."

"And what about the people who don't believe in that?" Bruce pushed, but it wasn't even a question in the boy's mind.

"I'll just kick their butts!"

Now the adult couldn't help but to laugh openly, if only because the child before him was fully capable of doing that to most adults. As it stood, he gave as well as he got in their mutual sparring sessions, even in loss. There were damn few times Bruce didn't walk away from their bouts and not feel it.

' _Another of Ra's lessons,'_ The Wayne surmised silently, this time knowing exactly where this one lay. It was a shot at his ego and a challenge to his will to succeed. Would Bruce Wayne be cowed just because a child was beating his ass on a regular basis?

' _Stupid old man.'_ Bruce huffed at Ra's enigmatic lessons. Like it or not, however, this particular old man could beat the both of them into the ground, so his words carried weight.

"What about you, Aniki?"

Bruce glanced back to the child now staring at him curiously. "What about me, what?"

"Why did you come here to train under sensei Ra's?" Ranma asked, now pausing in his folding. Bruce studied the Japanese boy for a moment, analyzing the question for deeper meaning. Or maybe he was simply overanalyzing it and crooked a smile for him.

"To be the best!"

"Anikiiiiiiiii!" The boy whined petulantly, causing the heir a hearty laugh at his antics. His amusement- the meager amount experience within the fortress walls -subsided a moment later, yet Ranma was still staring, expecting an answer… Expecting something deeper.

The smile faded away from Bruce's lips as he searched a suitable one to give. What was the kid looking for? Acceptance? Validation? It also filled the Wayne heir with no small amount of irony, and he wondered if Ra's had any idea of just what he had done in placing them together.

Bruce Wayne laid his cards on the table, looking down at the cobblestone floor.

"You said martial artist's duty is to protect the weak." He explained in a low, solemn tone. "Well, there's a lot of weak people where I come from. Somebody needs to protect them."

Just that admission opened up the floodwaters of memory and for a moment, Bruce Wayne found himself drowning in them—the pivotal moment of his life that had led to this very place in this very moment. The images of death and despair flashed before him until the silence of the world beyond stretched for too long, drawing his attention outward. He found Ranma simply starring, but no longer wearing the playful grin.

It was a surprisingly adult look for a boy so young.

"Don't worry, Aniki," Ranma nodded, as if seeing some small glimpse of the man's pain. "I'll help you be the best too."

As much as he wanted to rebuke the kid for the slight to his skill, Bruce couldn't bring himself to deny the boy's sincerity. A slight smile crept across the man's face. "Says the kid I had in an arm lock just a half hour ago."

"Only cuz Ra's is limiting me to his ninjutsu!" The black haired boy huffed, folding his arms as the seriousness of his demeanor evaporated as quickly as it appeared. "Let me mix it with Anything Goes and we'll see who gets the arm lock next!"

"Anything Goes, huh?" Bruce mused as he returned to tightening his arm wrap. "That wouldn't be anything like-"

 **GONG! GONG!**

"Dinner!" Ranma's eyes popped open wide as the sound of the fortress bell reverberated through the stone walls. He dropped the remainder of his clothes on the bed and slid into a clean gi. "Last one there does the other's dishes!"

The boy tore out of the room, leaving Bruce with a tick on his cheek while all but knowing what would be left on his plate if he got there last. He quickly finished the final loop of his bandage and raced after the boy.

"You'd better not touch my food, kid!"

* * *

 **Present.**

 **F** or some, a yacht represented the height of luxury; a status symbol with which to judge and be judged by. As a member of the finical elite, Bruce Wayne was likewise expected to have a yacht and show it off. A customized Burgess super luxury yacht cruising Tokyo bay was the ideal way to show off one's social standing. As expected, the sleek boat represented the state of the art in nearly anything imaginable and any boat cruising within close proximity would be hard pressed not to notice the party in progress up and down its deck.

Though its participants were predominantly the rich and famous of Japan, the playboy billionaire was an equal opportunity employer. Bikini clad beauties from every ethnicity wandered to and fro, a well-known trademark of sorts when it came to his parties. The paparazzi trawling alongside ate it up, of course. Tomorrow's paper would feature pictures of the yacht, the party and the pretty blond he was kissing on the cheek even as he waved to the reporters themselves.

As with everything else in Bruce Wayne's like, it was the perfect cover. Nobody would miss him as he sauntered below decks, through several biometric secured doors to access the yacht's main suite. The sound of a heavy bolt disengaging marked his entry into the spacious compartment and he closed the door with a light click. The deadbolts imminently re-engaged and he moved around the king sized bed and walked over to the office suite nestled in the corner where a keyboard and monitor waited.

"Secure room."

The clear windows allowing a beautiful sunny view of the harbor immediately flushed black with the command, while the computer itself flickered to life.

"Electronic Countermeasures, online. Noise Cancelling, online. Secure uplink, established." A female digital voice relayed in a monotone voice.

The billionaire sat down in the leather seat at the desk, composing his thoughts before an empty screen. After a moment, he leaned forward, ready to begin. "Retrace my route from the Imperial Hotel to Keiyō."

The wide screen monitor dutifully summoned a map of the area, tracing a semi straight line between the two points as he watched. He nodded to himself and added another order. "Overlay video surveillance points along the route."

Several red points sprang into existence along the line. Being in Tokyo made this particular search all the more easier. "Synchronize timeframes with my passing. Pull imagery of any other person passing within… ten minutes of the same time index."

"One moment." The female voice advised, then added, "Some access points are firewalled."

"Authorized to breach." Wayne confirmed, putting the system to work. It finished a moment later.

"Done."

"Filter hits by color." Bruce added, noting the number of files his search had managed to pull. He tapped his finger on the desk as he considered the variable. "Anything with more than twenty percent red in the frame."

The file count instantly dropped from three hundred and twenty-two down to seven.

"Display."

The video files sprang into existence, overlaying one on top of the other to be viewed. Bruce touched the first, and it began to play, revealing little more than a five second blur of red as it passed at close range in front of the camera. He touched the 'X' in the upper right corner, banishing it for the next clip. The man frowned at the result. His algorithm had captured a stop light.

' _Next,'_ The playboy rolled his eyes, only to pull up another blurred image of a figure racing across a rooftop. Bruce's next thoughts were tinted with disappointment _. 'Only four more images until I'm forced to go through all three hundred manually.'_

God forbid he did some real detective work.

Wayne chuckled to himself and looked over the remaining four. The next two were similar blurs, but the third was exactly what he needed. It featured the girl leaping off a ledge, passing through just enough light to support the higher framerates necessary for a sharper picture. He isolated the best frame from the eight second clip, touching the screen to draw a box around the girl's face in order to crop it.

He took a moment to study it for himself. Even in flight, she didn't look like much of a fighter. She was well on her way to becoming a beauty in spite of her teenage years, made all the more exotic by the red hair being manhandled by the wind. But she was a fighter, every bit capable of holding her own against an armed band of Yakuza as he was.

' _Not to mention the boosted thug,'_ He amended, remembering how she had dropped the nanite enhanced Yakuza without ever seeming to have touched him. The early evidence was pointing to the fact that she was a meta-human if her speed and strength were any indications, but all of that paled compared to one crucial point—The girl knew who he was behind the mask.

If she had just been another meta looking to play superhero, that would have been the end of it for him. 'Batman' would have referred the lead to the Justice League without caring one way or the other as long as she didn't get in the way. That, of course, was not the case here. The redhead knew who he was. Not only that, there appeared to be a misunderstanding.

'… _She thinks I'm with the League of Assassins.'_ The Wayne heir mulled over the inconstancy. The redhead thought he was with the League of Assassins even though she was the one using League of Assassins ninjutsu. Her statement also hinted at the fact that she must have had little idea who 'Batman' was as a public persona. Sure, he wasn't as well known as the Kryptonian, but…

…Bruce resumed tapping softly on the desktop, now deep in thought. It was an interesting dichotomy to say the least, one that had the potential to come back around at the worst possible moment unless he got out in front of it.

That, and he had to admit to some level of curiosity.

"Correlate this image with the Tokyo Department of Education. Report any matches." The man ordered, continuing with his search with a rough idea of her age.

"No records found." The computer advised in an almost bored tone.

Bruce arched an eyebrow. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. "Expand search to all of Japan."

"Request will take several moments to complete." The computer advised, prompting the man to nod.

"Run a concurrent internet search." The billionaire added. "Compile both results upon—"

"One website, five preliminary matches found to ninety-five percent accuracy." The voice interrupted, causing its user to blink. "Continuing with deep search."

"That fast?" He mumbled aloud, then shrugged. "Put us behind a proxy. Open it."

The computer complied and a webpage opened, immediately causing the man pause. The girl featured prominently in what appeared to be a photo portfolio with a number of pictures framed as glamor shots. Each had a dollar amount next to them and a helpful link to facilitate their purchase. He scrolled through the site with his finger until coming to the bottom and a new link.

*S3xy R nk0*

He tapped the link… And almost wished he hadn't. A teenager she might have been, but Ranko- assuming that was her name -was very gifted for her age if the new collage of photos were any indication. Along with them were yet more links advertising their sale; from wallet sized photos to embroidered handkerchiefs.

"Right." Bruce took a deep breath, reluctantly pulling himself away from the candids and back to the task on hand. He spoke a new order for the computer. "Pull the site registrar."

"Registrar is maintained by third party anonymizing service." The female voice droned. "Breaching now."

A new window sprang to life on the desktop to obscure the website. It was a simple text document containing the name and address of the domain owner. Bruce Wayne cocked his head as the name was vaguely recognized. A frown formed as new realization settle upon him.

"Pull footage from the Marusha-Waynetech ribbon cutting ceremony." He ordered and the computer dutifully responded.

"Multiple angles and time indexes available."

"Just after the ribbon cutting. Any angle." Wayne replied. A number of windows were isolated on-screen for his use. He touched one and it began to play, showing him shaking hands with an official even as he was plied with questions. He watched as his liaison intercepted any remaining questions while he in turn was confronted by a teenage girl with short hair. Bruce paused the video and selected another one, watching as the same scene played out from a further vantage point.

His finger pulled another video into focus. The scene played out once more. He was just about to dismiss it as well until what he was looking for finally stepped into view.

 _Red._

"Pull the footage with the best view on this point." The billionaire commanded, touching a crop of red hair seemed to surface amongst the crowd. More windows were conjured and he chose the top, playing it. The redhead bobbed into view once more, but this time from a considerably better angle. She wore a caterer's uniform and seemed focused entirely on his meeting with the other girl.

' _Just how long was she there?'_ Bruce wondered to himself and spoke a new command.

"Backtrack. Follow her."

The windows shifted around and with them, the redhead's presence from a number of angles. As an employee, she played the part of hostess perfectly, flitting through the crowd while offering his VIPs cocktails from the tray she expertly balanced… All while staying within reasonably close proximity to his person.

"Quite the stalker." He murmured to himself as he watched her attention alternate from his guests to his person. The only reason he remembered her presence at the ceremony was for the same unlike coincidence that seemed to tie her to website owner. Bruce pulled the initial footage back into view, frozen with him shaking hands with the first Japanese teen… Nabiki Tendo, uninvited guest and owner of the website now sitting idle in the background of his desktop.

Bruce Wayne smiled, resolving to pay her a visit in the very near future.

* * *

 **T** he good life.

She could almost taste it.

Coming from a family that could barely make end meet, Nabiki Tendo had tired of her father's apathy and her elder sister's hand-me-downs at an early age. Not content to live within the limited financial confines of her father's pension, she developed a strong desire to improve her lot in life, though 'by any means necessary' often became the byline to her ambitions.

The ends quickly justified the means for her, to the point where she began to extort classmates and sell pictures of her own sister in order to sate the desire for monetary wealth, and through it, achieve some degree of financial independence. The arrival of Ranma Saotome represented an unexpected windfall and Nabiki quickly expanded her operations to take advantage of her little sister's sometimes fiancée. Cheesecake photos, betting pools, internet media…

…Wealthy young men looking to book some alone time with a certain curvy redhead.

Such was the case now. While it wasn't a limo per se, the black sedan that was her current conveyance reeked of luxury; so much so she could almost taste it. Any car could come equipped with leather seats, but few could afford to customize it with _climate-controlled_ leather seats, a full media center and campaign cooler sitting between her and her client. He was in his early twenties according to her study, well dressed and sporting a pair of stylish wireframe glasses. The sharp lines of his face indicated a heritage somewhere between Korean and Chinese, though his Japanese was perfect. Nabiki watched and waited as he worked the cellphone pressed to the side of his head, nodding as he carried on a one-sided conversation. With a final nod, he retired the slab of technology, disconnecting the line as he turned an apologetic smile on the Ice Queen.

"I do apologize, Miss Tendo. Where were we?" He asked while Nabiki herself favored him with a patient look.

"Think nothing of it, Mister Han." She returned pleasantly before picking up the conversation his phone call had interrupted. "As I recall, you were agreeable to the date and time. We merely need to address the matter of expectations. Your interest in Ranko was a date I believe?"

"Nothing so formal." The businessman produced a curt laugh. "The venue will be a business function. Unfortunately, I have an image to uphold and my peers expect me to be accompanied by someone _…comely._ "

' _Arm candy,'_ Nabiki made the mental interpretation as the man sifted through Ranko's portfolio. She couldn't help but indulge in a silent chuckle herself. If the man was looking to make a statement, there were few better ways than to be accompanied by a blue eyed, redheaded Japanese bombshell, and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Then I see no reason not to forward." The Ice Queen offered professionally. "Please realize that anything beyond your meeting will be at her discretion, with no refunds offered or implied should she be disinclined to participate."

' _Very disinclined to participate.'_ She added with a mental smirk.

"Of course," Han nodded agreeably. "As attractive as that sounds, I am far too busy to engage in such pursuits at the moment. Another time, perhaps."

"Perhaps." She answered simply, more than willing to leave that particular door open. Did Nabiki Tendo feel guilty that she was booking Ranma for a meeting that was just short of compensated dating? _As if._ He was a big boy. Or girl, in this case. If Han got grabby, she was confident in the martial artist's ability to administer corrective behavior, and did she mention all sales were final? Nabiki pushed the humor over her maybe brother in-law's circumstances aside, returning to business. "That said, I believe I have a suitable place in mind to meet up…"

Once the minutia was out of the way, the remainder of the trip was spent engaged in polite conversation. She asked him what he did for a living. He asked how her business ventures were proceeding. She commented on how it was enough to pay the bills and he replied in kind, noting that the bills only got larger. Was Ranko a nice girl? What were her hobbies? Nabiki told a shade of the truth in that she was very much invested in staying fit.

Before she knew it, the sedan had rolled to a stop in front of her house, all too soon in her opinion. Hobnobbing with the successful rich was an extra circular activity in and of itself, one she would happily indulge in on a regular basis if she could.

A mental note was made to change the focus of her website to target the more affluent consumer.

"I believe this is your stop, Miss Tendo?" Han offered politely as he pulled several rectangular sheets from the inside breast pocket of his business jacket. He handed it to her even as the driver exited the vehicle, stepping around to her door. Nabiki took the tan slips, tucking them into her purse without so much as a second look

"A pleasure doing business with you, Mister Han." The Mercenary thanked the man politely, offering her hand even as the door opened. He smiled for her and with some disappoint, she stepped back out into the real world. Moments later, the good life departed. She wistfully watched as the black sedan disappeared around the corner before turning back to the Tendo property gates with a sigh, cracking them open to admit herself.

The good life may have departed, but she smiled with the monetary fragment she had retained and stepped through the gate, walking along the gravel path to the house as she reminisced over the meeting… until she noticed the shadow. Her shadow wasn't something she usually paid attention to and glancing down at it hadn't revealed any notable changes. It was the _second_ shadow that caused her the double-take and she spun around, barely suppressing the squeak of fright upon finding her maybe-possibly brother in-law calmly walking alongside her.

She stopped and Ranma stopped with her, watching her as she projected an annoyed look back at him. "Stalker much, Saotome?"

He simply shrugged and she shook her head, not really caring enough to decipher his antics as she turned back to her path of travel. She managed ten more steps before stopping in irritation, noting the silent shadow still accompanying her. Nabiki paused, turning back to the boy with a sigh. _"What?"_

"Who was that?" The martial artist asked simply, causing the mercenary to stare while wondering at his atypical behavior. Much as she wanted to string her cash cow along, he was going to find out sooner or later, and just maybe she would find out what was up with him following her around like a lost puppy.

"Mister Han," She stated simply and continued to walk toward the front door. "He's a rich client who needs some arm candy for a business meeting."

He seemed to accept her explanation with a nod and the Ice Queen smiled to herself as she reached for the doorknob. _'Wait for it….'_

"Why would he..." Ramna's thought trailed off aloud. Nabiki could swear she almost heard the 'on' switch click the light bulb in his head.

' _However dim it may be…'_ She chortled to herself even as that realization came to the boy in full. This time he was the one to stop, staring at his someday sister in-law with incredulity.

"Oh, come on!" Ranma balked as the Tendo opened the door, now wearing an overly satisfied smirk. She slid out of her shoes as the black haired boy followed in behind her. "I thought we were done with that!"

" _You_ thought we were done with that," Nabiki shrugged, as if his misinterpretation of the facts didn't concern her. "The bills and expenses from just having the name 'Saotome' around disagree."

"And none of it's findin' its way into your pocket at all." Ranma accused with a dour expression that did little to affect the girl's concern.

"Somebody has to run the betting pools and website," She continued, stepping deeper into the house where Kasumi tended to an ironing board. The elder sister favored both of them with a smile, but declined to interrupt the conversation. Nabiki glanced back over her shoulder to the glum martial artist. "Those clients aren't going to find themselves, you know?"

"I've got stuff to do, though!" Ranma complained, earning a skeptical eyebrow from the sister.

"Oh? And does this stuff have anything to do with generating an income to offset your father's expenses or the damages created by your fan club?" The Mercenary asked in a seemingly innocent tone. "Because if it does, I'm all ears."

The pigtailed teen's mouth opened, then closed Nabiki smiled sweetly. "Didn't think so. Besides, it's just a business get together. Hang around, look pretty, and go home. I doubt he'll even make a pass at you."

' _This time,'_ The middle Tendo sister smirked internally, taking delight in the boy's obvious discomfort.

"Fine." Ranma conceded defeat with a sigh, shaking his head. "When and where?"

"This Saturday," She commented, pulling out a daytimer from her hand purse, flipping through it to the requisite page. "And lucky you, lunch at the Le Chateau de Joel Robuchon."

"Yay, lucky me." Ranma deadpanned, favoring the girl with a dry look.

"Do you know how many girls would kill for an invite from a rich, eligible bachelor to a five star French cuisine restaurant?" Nabiki laughed as the martial artist rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I didn't see any of you steppin' to the plate with Picolet." He quipped back, but the mercenary's humor held fast.

"Because those meter-wide stretchy lips are such a turn on." Nabiki chortled in sarcasm while Ranma was finding it increasingly hard to hold on to his dour mood.

"Then try getting kissed by them." He commented, shivering slightly with the remembrance while Nabiki adopted a more thoughtful look.

"Though that tongue on the wedding night…" The middle Tendo sister offered in an overly wistful tone.

Ranma promptly tripped over his own feet, planting his face firmly into the floor even as the girl chortled aloud. She stepped around him, now laughing out loud. "Way too easy, Saotome. Way too easy."

Almost as easy as picking out what to wear.

Had he been the more introspective sort, Ranma would have considered it a dichotomy of mindsets as she picked through the closet for something to wear. On one hand, she knew the curse was an anathema to his masculinity with no end to the trouble it caused. It was, simply put, a pain in the ass for any number of different reasons and if you had an hour to spare, he would explain them to you one by one in detail. On the other hand, he was a guy, and being a guy allowed him to exploit it on so many different levels.

At first it had start out as an entirely unconscious act. Ranma Saotome didn't know the first thing about real girls prior to his swim in Jusenkyo, so he unknowingly borrowed from his limited exposure to the idealized examples on television and in magazines when it came to getting what he wanted out of the curse. Twisting food vendors around her finger became an all-too-easy past-time and his stay in Nerima only refined that idealized image. If being a girl was a martial art, the pigtailed boy learned it too well. Being a guy himself, he knew what guys found cute, what clothes they found sexy, and what turned their heads.

In short, the Ranma Saotome picking though the closet of costumes she had amassed through her misadventures with the curse was not the same one who had fallen into Jusenkyo. This redhead was making a calculated decision on what to wear based on who Nabiki had rented her to and the expensive, five star restaurant they were meeting at. If anything, the idea of being rented out annoyed her more than actually being rented out as a girl whether she realized it or not.

The ballroom gown and other dresses she had inherited from the Chardin incident were briefly considered before being discarded as a possibility. While they were certainly French and likely cost more money than she had yet to see ever, the garments were also completely over the top for the venue she would be attending. A few lesser dresses from other encounters were fingered as she contemplated their suitability until finally pausing at what was, in retrospect, the obvious choice.

She had done such a good job at dressing for the occasion that the maître d' confirming her reservation struggled not to stare at the redheaded beauty standing before him. That had been another lesson Ranma had subconsciously learned as she accrued experience with the curse—You didn't need to show _skin_ to show _off._ The red and gold full length Chinese cheongsam had been the obvious choice after all since not only was her client Chinese, but she liked it herself. It helped that she made it look good, of course; its gossamer red silk hugging her curves like a second skin.

Ranma's ego savored the inadvertent mental pause she had created within the head waiter's thought process, already knowing what he was seeing just by spending time in front of the mirror to perfect her own image. Though she held a certain amount of distain for jewelry and makeup, that very same ego deemed them necessary to complete the look and the results spoke for themselves as she offered him a demure smile through the lapse.

"Ahem, of course. Mister Chan." The middle aged man confirmed the reservation, consciously straitening his black suit jacket out to cover for his lapse, slight as it may have been. He nodded to his assistant, who moved into position to take the next patron while he personally escorted the beauty. She floated behind the balding man as if the neither the establishment nor its finery were foreign to the boy-cursed-girl raised on the road. Her eyes wandered with interest, though her last two years in Nerima had seen far too many unintended visits to any number of manors and mansion to be truly awed.

The food, on the other hand, caught her attention and Ranma cracked the slightest of smiles over the dishes she noted being partaken of by the restaurant's clientele. Okay, so she had had to play arm candy and yes, she'd twist the Han guy into a pretzel if he got grabby, but the food alone was almost worth the price of admission, be it as a boy or girl.

They turned a corner and entered a more private stretch of the restaurant; a section with barely a handful of tables and only one of them occupied. She turned her attention toward the person that was presumably the infamous Mister Han-

-And stopped dead in her tracks.

The smile abruptly fell away into a frown as her eyes drew upon the person waiting, a person who was distinctly not Asian in any way shape or form. He was Caucasian with blue eyes, black hair and just as impeccably dressed as she was.

He was _Bruce Wayne._

"Son of a…" Ranma muttered to herself as the man smiled knowingly at her. The maître d' wondered at her sudden lack of forward progress as Ranma collected her wits, schooling her features to neutrality as she resumed her advance. The billionaire gave her a polite once over as if to admire a work of art before standing up for himself to move to her side of the table. He pulled out her chair and offered her the space, to which she simply rolled her eyes.

"Thanks 'Mister Han'." Ranma acknowledged with an edge of sarcasm, dropping any pretense of playing the demure date. She took the seat regardless and Bruce moved back to his place setting with a slight chuckle.

"Don't think too harshly of him." The businessman smiled with humor in his eyes. "'Mister Han acted upon my request."

"Another ninja?" Ranma pressed edgily, hoping for a reaction beyond the playboy persona she already knew was a front. Instead, she received mirth.

"Middle management." The Wayne heir admitted with a chuckle while the waiter placed her menu in front of her place setting. Bruce received his menu next and pursued it briefly before making his decision. He turned to the head waiter, politely handing the menu back to him. "I'll have the Foie Gras with mustard seeds and green onions in duck jus."

The maître d' nodded and turned to the redhead. "And for you, mademoiselle?"

Bruce waited with slight amusement as she picked through the menu written entirely in French. He was just about to step in and offer the teen some help when she snapped it shut, cocking her head.

"I'll have the Moules Marinières and Blanquette de Veau." Ranma advised the waiter with calm practice, rolling the consonants of her speech perfectly before glancing back to the man across from her as if to solicit his advice. "Is the Cassoulet here good?"

Bruce Wanye couldn't help but to arch his eyebrow with slight surprise at the question and portions involved, but answered regardless. "Very."

"That, and Gateau Basque for dessert." She added for the waiter, turning a sweet, all too knowing smile back upon her host.

The man across from her gave the martial artist her due with a nod, acknowledging the spectacular failure of removing the Japanese girl from her element by placing her in a high class French Cuisine restaurant for their meeting. He sniffed his amusement and amended her order. "If I may, Domaine Leflaive Montrachet Grand Cru would go well with the Blanquette de Veau."

"Sure, why not." She smirked, signing off on the inclusion of the 500,000 yen bottle of wine.

"And some privacy." Bruce glanced up at their attendant, who produced an understanding nod in turn.

"Of course, Wayne-dono."

Within moments the pair had their own section of the restaurant to themselves, staring at one another as if they were lovers… Or something else entirely.

"So how'er your Yakuza buddies doing?" Ranma broke the ice with the pointed question, not content to endure the silence the man across from her seemed to prefer.

The businessman stared back at her with a piercing gaze for a moment before answering in a tone that more closely resembled their warehouse meeting. "Mostly incarcerated. A few are still in the hospital."

"One less ass I have to kick, then." The redhead stated, deliberately staring into Wayne in order to ensure he knew just whose ass was next on the list. His gaze narrowed on her with the overt threat and he shook his head.

"I'm not who you think I am."

"Is that right?" Ranma blinked with exaggerated surprise, staring as if confused. "You mean you _aren't_ the guy who trained under Master Ra's and the League of Assassins in a Tibetan Mountain Fortress on a mountain out in the middle of nowhere?"

Bruce pulled his hand away from the delicate glass he had been sipping water from, lacing them together as he leaned forward to eye the girl with unveiled suspicion. It wasn't often he was caught at such a deficit of information, especially given the timeframe they were discussing… and he was damn certain he would recognize anybody from those days, especially some ninja girl with bright red hair. "Who _are_ you?"

"Didn't you read the website profile?" The edge of a smirk found its way to the edge of Ranma's lips.

"'Ranko' doesn't exist." The businessman cocked his head, staring at the teen critically. "There's no record of your birth, in the Tokyo department of education or even all of Japan matching your description. In fact, the only place you do exist is on some amateur modeling website run by your colleague who _just happened_ to scout me out while you were casing my ribbon cutting ceremony. If anybody is a League of Assassins agent, it's going to be _you_."

"I ain't no assassin." The teen across from Bruce favored him with blue-eyed glare, somehow having taken offense at the insinuation to his surprise.

"Neither am I." The billionaire returned seriously, settling into a staring match as he tried to pick apart the mystery the girl across from him represented. Her crystal blue eyes stared back unflinchingly until maître d returned… With reinforcements. Three attendants followed, one arranging the silverware while the others placed the requested meals before them. Bruce noticed he had been forgotten completely as the girl's eyes wandered the setting eagerly before flicking back up to his presence with a serious expression.

"You're still paying for this." She stated as her fingers rested lightly on a fork- the correct fork he noted –in preparing to partake of her meal.

"Of course." He smiled back easily, causing the redhead pause. And a frown. He puzzled at the teen's mercurial mood swing even as she returned to scrutinizing his person.

"And stop that." Ranma eyed him suspiciously as yet another waiter metted out the obscenely expensive wine they had ordered. He eyed the girl, not entirely comprehending the new source of her irritation until she elaborated. "The other Wayne's less creepy."

Bruce blinked, not used to having the duality of his persona called out in such a manner, likewise having his public facade being labelled as _more creepy_. He studied the girl for another moment as she watched him, then offered her a reconciliatory nod as the headwaiter placed a tiny, silver bell at the edge of their table.

"Should you require anything, simply ring the bell." The bald man offered, then nodded to his entourage. The trio of assistants fell into step behind him and the pair was alone once again.

After a moment of silence, the businessman broke the ice as he unfolded his napkin. Like the teen, he dropped any pretense of personability and returned to business. "Since there appears to be a misunderstanding here, let me be clear: I am not affiliated with the League. I do not condone their tactics and I most certainly do not kill."

Unlike her counterpart, Ranma had already started in on her food but paused her rapid, yet well-mannered intake to study him with her crystalline blue eyes. After a moment, she cocked her head and posed a question in a softer, less confrontational tone.

"Still got people you need to protect, Aniki?"

Bruce Wayne hand froze, no longer able to section of the slice of beef he was about to partake of as her words resonated through his brain, dredging long forgotten memories from the depths. He set the fork aside and stood up, leaning forward as his focus narrowed exclusively on the redhead. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm a martial artist, same as you," Ranma stated simply and took a bite of her own meal while watching the man looming over her worked through the conundrum she represented. She cocked her head, amending her statement. "Well, maybe not the same. I mean, what's with the black demon getup anyway? Tryin' to scare em to death?"

" _Yes."_ The business magnate confirmed in a somewhat dark tone, only to watch her head bob in agreement between bites as she continued to dissect his evening attire.

"Little heavy on the armor, though. That's gotta be a bitch to move around in." The redhead commented absently. The intensity of Wayne's gaze faded into outright curiosity as the redhead easily flowed from business to shop talk.

"It's lighter than it looks." Bruce admitted, having settled enough to return to his chair. Still, he couldn't help but to return to the original topic. "I've never worked with you before."

Ranma took a small sip of wine from the crystal Chardonnay, not entirely sure what to make of the golden-green wine or the sharp taste playing across her taste buds. She rolled the luminous liquid around the crystal in an almost aristocratic manner before setting it down before favoring him with a mysterious smile.

It was nice to be the one holding all the cards for once.

"That's where you're wrong." She corrected his assumption before taking another bite of her meal. "You got your mask, I got mine."

"Except you've seen through mine." The billionaire frowned, then gestured to her. "And yours is rather obvious."

"That's the best part about it." Ranma smirked and set one plate aside to start on the next, whereas Wayne was only halfway done with his. A piece of meat dripping with gravy paused on its ascent to her lips as she amended the comment. "Besides, not sure you want what I got."

Bruce cracked a sardonic smile- one not part in parcel to the playboy persona. "That's usually my line."

"Then you understand why I ain't too eager to invite more of it." The redhead nodded as if it were a fact of life... Which for her, it sadly was. Now free of its payload, Ranma consumed the delicious morsel and used its prongs to gesture toward her luncheon partner. "I mean, it's not that I can't handle the idiots; I just can't be everywhere at once. Not everybody I know can take out some Yakuza guy with his arms on fire, you know?"

"All too well." The man murmured as he watched the teen eat, his thoughts drifting elsewhere for a moment.

"How long you been doing the ninja thing, anyway?" Ranma glanced up with a curious look. It was completely devoid of the guarded attitude he had encountered early and to Bruce, represented an opportunity to gain more information. It was a psychological gamble, but it was an opening he couldn't refuse but to exploit.

Bruce shrugged for her and baited the hook as he forked a black mushroom to be eaten. "If anybody should know, it's you."

Ranma cocked her head in consideration. "Jeez, you must have been stuck there way after my old man got me out then."

Wayne simply nodded, letting the girl come to her own conclusions without volunteering any of his own.

"No wonder why you got League ninjitsu flying all over the place." The martial artist winced melodramatically, as if to emphasis her understanding of his circumstances. "That, and some Krav. Jujitsu... A few other brands of ninjitsu too. Makes sense, I guess."

"It does?" Bruce blinked, now distracted from mining the girl for information and wondering exactly what conclusion the redhead had come to.

"Well sure." She shrugged easily. "Old man Ra's would have had a fit if he knew you were taking up other arts. God knows he tried to beat it out of me every chance he got."

The Wayne heir stared. That actually made a disturbing amount of sense because she was absolutely right... Which at very least told him she was speaking from a position of authority on his old sensei's character. Another part of her testimony stood out in his mind and he silently mouthed it in slight disbelief.

 _'...Old man Ra's.'_

There was only one person _in the world_ he knew of that would ever use such an impudent title to describe the master assassin and former leader of the League, causing Bruce Wayne to stare incredulously at the redhead as the pieces and memories fell into place. "You're... the kid's _sister?"_

Ranma paused, as if thinking about it herself before simply nodding. "Sure, close enough."

And yet not. This girl was entirely too familiar with his history, as if she had experienced it in spite never having experienced it _with_ him. Her red hair was so notable that it would have been impossible not to notice her within the period she was relating and he knew more than enough of Ra's Gul's personal history to know this girl didn't feature anywhere in it.

' _Then again, I had a son I didn't know about,'_ Bruce checked his logic, realizing there was enough of a gap in his knowledge to allow for this Ranko's existence. Alternate scenarios explaining her presence began to filter through his mind. Her brother related the stories to her? Taught his sister League ninjitsu? Those same thoughts produced mental frown. _'Then why act like she experienced it in the first person?'_

He watched as she reached over to the fine silver bell and gave it a delicate shake. Its pitch resonated delicately in her hand and the head waiter stepped around the corner moments later as she set it back to the table.

"Yes, mademoiselle?" The smartly dressed maître d asked and the martial artist produce a wide grin.

"Dessert!" The girl known as Ranko chirped, promptly causing both men to do a double take at her setting. Surely enough, it was completely devoid of food with neither man believing that the girl with a figure nearly that of a super model had reduced two entrees to nothing. She seemed to cock her head, then nodded. "And one to go."

Bruce's cheek twitched while the head waiter blinked, staring in disbelief. "Of… Of course."

Ranma glanced up, noting the businessman's stare. "What? It's probably the only time I get food this good outside some inane challenge."

The billionaire nodded dumbly, forcing his thoughts back on track even as the waiter stepped away to relay her request. With that goal of pumping her for information in mind, he continued to probe the depths of her knowledge concerning his history. "So, what happened? One day your brother was there, the next he was gone…?"

"The fat panda, that's what happened." Ranma shook his head leaning back in reminiscence. "Didn't know it at the time, but that's what he does—Stick me with somebody who knows martial arts in exchange for somethin', has me soak up their moves, then backs out on the deal." She paused with a look of irritation before continuing. "Usually that last part involves me getting smacked upside the head in the middle of the night and hauling ass when nobody's lookin'."

"Fat… panda…?" Bruce stared, trying to correlate his intelligence gathering on the girl with her statement. His investigators could, in fact, confirm the existence of a panda that seemed to be her pet, but…

"My idiot father." She supplied, answering absolutely _none_ of the questions he might have had on the topic. "Pretty sure I mentioned him once or twice back then."

She had. Or rather _he_ had.

' _Ranma Saotome,'_ His memories whispered more of the child's details as memories all but forgotten continued to surface. The relevant ones remembered the kid's father as somewhat of a bastard, along the lines of Ra's Gul when it came to training and the Wayne heir simply nodded, as if associating the brother's experience with the presumed sister in front of him wasn't a thing.

' _Would that make you_ Ranko _Saotome?'_ He wondered, adding to the long list of discrepancies. Instead of voicing them aloud, he merely nodded as if it were a fact of life. "I got the impression that he was a bit of a scoundrel, if I recall correctly."

"That's probably too nice a way of sayin' it." Ranma nodded, then tracked on the motion from the side of their table as her desert was walked over by another waiter. The almost pie-like tart was set in front of her, playing the part of a piece of art with its intricate sakura flower designs lacing the surface in powdered sugar. Cherry fruity filling dripped from the sides of the slice, tempting the girl further. Her eyes all but sparkled unnaturally as she gave the pastry fork a twirl between her fingers. Ranma offered the waiter a silent nod in thanks and promptly attacked the dessert.

She looked back up at Bruce as their attendant once again removed himself for the sake of their privacy. "So, you done with the Yakuza types?"

The Wayne heir weighed the question against his own operational security, ultimately deciding the risk to be minimal against what she already knew. It didn't take a genius to figure out his own next move and even that paled against the very fact that she knew Batman's identity. In the end, he treated her curiosity as more conversational bait and replied with an accompanying shrug

"They're just the dealers." Bruce commented as the girl across from him savored her dessert. "I have some leads on the chip manufactures and from there, who is directing the testing back in the United States."

"Well, if you need any help, you know where to find me, I guess." Ranma shrugged as she held the next piece of her dessert aloft on the tip of her silver fork, as if considering its fate.

Her comment sparked a new strand of interest in the billionaire as he considered the redhead with a cocked head. "Why were you tracking me to begin with?"

"Can't have shitheads like the League go around killing innocents, you know?" She explained simply as after the morsel had disappeared.

Bruce Wayne stared at the girl as she happily consumed her pastry as if they weren't discussing the ass kicking of an organization dedicated to social upheaval through strategic assassination. Regardless of who this girl actually was or what her affiliation with the boy was, there was really only way he could respond.

"Yes," He nodded in solemn agreement. "I think I do."

* * *

 **NINE Years Ago**

" **A** niki…?"

The forlorn child's voice echoed through the cavern, it's unsure pitch advising that the boy asking the question was by no means certain of his location, the location of his purported brother or even that of his purpose in life. A parent hearing that uncertain question would have immediately taken pity on the child; almost certainly reassuring him that everything would be okay and help him to the nearest koban for assistance.

There were no helpful parents in the cavern beneath the League of Assassins fortress deep within the frost bitten Himalayas, nor any brother assist the boy. He was on in his own, surrounded by rock, the minimal light of his lantern and the deep shadows that all but whispered his imminent demise.

"Where…I can't see you, Aniki…" The black haired boy searched about within the limited radius of his light, receiving the chilling howl of wind winding its way down to him from the surface as his only reply. The seven year old Ranma Saotome shivered, as if not only responding to its cold, but the insecurities he felt.

He had good cause to.

"Ah, that's too bad…" An adult voice whispered from the shadows, causing Ranma to jerk in the direction it was perceived. Its low tones echoed through the cavern, distracting the child's attention onto other vectors in the hopes to sight the speaker.

"Ra's pet is all by himself…" Another masculine voice observed in a low, menacing tone and the boy flinched, whirling around to try and find the new presence.

"Getting lost down here ain't good for your health, kiddo." Ranma's head snapped to the right, this time watching as a black wrapped ninja emerged from the shadows, as if shedding them like a cloak. The boy shuffled back while the leering grin beneath the man's mask was all too apparent.

"You know what we want." The child martial artist's head swung left as another presence emerged, this one wearing a half masked fashioned into that of a colorful dragon.

"Yield the scroll and we'll just knock you unconscious." The third and final voice was accompanied by the sound of footsteps on gravel, localizing him to Ranma's back while it explained with false sympathy. "Maybe you'll wake up and grab one from the other teams. Maybe not."

"But it won't hurt nearly as much as if we have to take it from you." The ninja on his right finished the statement with menace, clearly outlying the terms of the boy's surrender.

The terrified boy glance back and forth, seemingly weighing his options before considering the plain masked ninja on his left. Ranma's hand fell to the bound scroll tied to his belt, clutching it. "You'll… You'll just go?"

"Don't worry, we'll make it quick." The first ninja shrugged nonchalantly, then warned him. "Just the scroll. Those little paws of yours move for anything else and we'll fill you full of steel."

The ninja fingered a tasseled dagger in hand to make his point, causing the boy to visibly gulp. "I… I thought we weren't supposed to kill each other…?"

"Accidents happen. The master knows that." The dragon mask on his right stated, his voice carrying the shrug that went unseen by the pony-tailed boy. His warning lowered a note. "And you're good enough not to take the chance."

"Ah… Alright…" Ranma frowned with worry, but untied the scroll regardless. "H-Here."

The child martial artist tossed it out to ninja one, where it skipped in the gravel to his feet. The shinobi nodded appreciably, reaching down for it. "Good doing business with—

A predatory smile suddenly replaced the uncertainty writ across the Saotome's face. "I can't believe you fell for that."

The first ninja blinked in confusion even as a small puff of smoke floated from the center of the scroll's wrapping. It was his only warning before the mixture of gunpowder and magnesium ignited, blasting the shadows away for the briefest instant; an instant that seemed like an eternity for the three pairs of eyes still open to witness it. The nova's rays blasted into their retinas that were still attuned to the darkness while the boom thundered across the cavern to deafen them.

The only one not staggering under the crush of light and sound promptly opened his eyes and attacked. Ranma Saotome launched himself through the spent sparkles of the dummy scroll, leaping up into a pirouette that served as the springboard of a roundhouse kick that savaged the first ninja's face. Already rendered senseless, his limited sensory world exploded in pain with the impact, sending him into an unstable spin until the airborne child's left elbow caught up, stopping the spin with his jaw and knocking two teeth loose as he fell to the ground. That probably would have been fine, but Ranma knew his weaknesses—Adults were stronger and could tank more damage. They were also ninja after all. Overkill was the safest bet and a myriad of open palmed strikes accompanied the adult's sloppy fall to the earth.

A dagger slipped from the man's grip on the way down, easily finding its way into the child's fingers to be flipped away and behind him with calculated precision. Its metallic pitch resonated with the impact of stone and the two remaining blind ninja candidates turned toward it, completely unaware of the compact martial arts freight train rushing to them.

His second victim went down nearly as easily as the first. The moment he stepped into range, Ranma's foot shot out into the back of the dragon masked man's knee, exploiting its reflexive lock to stagger the man down to his own level. The seven-year-old deftly avoided the ninja's wild swing backwards and moved his arm into a joint lock, pulling him back and beyond his victim's center of gravity. The adult went down on his back and Ranma instantly rolled on top of him, raining pressure point jabs into the man's abdomen before finally smashing at his face to finish the combination and render him just as unconscious as the first.

By the time Ranma hopped to his feet, the last candidate was finally regaining his senses, picking the boy out of the overexposure of his vision.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to scrub his eyes clear of the after image before giving his arms a flick. A pair of short swords sprang from his sleeves, locking into place along the underside of his arms. The ninja in training shook his head with a snarl. "You're gonna pay for that, little mongrel."

Instead of emoting fear, the eager child bounced on the pads of his feet with a smile, anticipating the initial lunge. The man didn't disappoint and gracefully swept in with the first blade while the second covered the most likely point of retaliation on his left flank, swiping at Ranma's attempt to exploit it as a vulnerability. Two stabs forced Ranma back through the shadows as his opponent danced a lethal ballet that bisected the air mere centimeters before flesh while the ballet itself interwove a series of kicks designed to trip the boy up. The child martial artist gave ground with the passage of steel, bobbing out of the blade's radius while dodging amongst the stalagmites, limiting the aggressors attack vectors until one of his arcs bit into mineral rock.

Sparks from the impact signaled the disruption of the ninja's combination and Ranma was instantly inside his attacker's radius, immobilizing the free arm with one hand while sending the other through the backside of his elbow joint. The man's scream echoed through the cavern and the precious seconds he spent extracting the blade from rock proved decisive. Two ribs cracked a moment later as the black haired boy exploited the opening, emptying the man's lungs of air while swinging under the immobilized sword arm as if it were a gymnastics beam. Ranma used the momentum to swing his body mass upward, kicking him twice in the face on the way up before curling into a choke-hold, maneuvering over his shoulders to drag the older man down from behind. The ninja thrashed and struggled, but the boy was already strong for his age and his choke hold held firm.

Thhppt! _ThhhptThhpptthhpppt!_

The whisper of wing caught Ranma's ear and he rolled out of the chokehold even as a brace of feathered darts tracked up his ninja victim's body and into the space the child had just occupied. His roll carried him to the discarded dagger used as a distraction from earlier into the fight, picking it up and cutting the next dart out of the air as he recovered. The boy's eyes darted to his already prone target and the five darts imbedded in his chest, watching as the man bucked with seizures before finally slumping into silence, barely breathing. Ranma's blue eyes flicked to the shadows, catching movement through the pillars of stone. He flipped the point of the dagger between his fingers and sent into the newcomer's path, charging in behind it to close the range…

…and was instantly beset upon by _another_ ninja. The blur of motion came from above, forcing Ranma to block and take the full force of the incoming kick. Pain coursed thought his shoulder with the force of the kick, but pain was a familiar part of his training; both with Ra's and his own father. He used the jarring impact to redirect his own momentum out of the follow-up combination. He ducked under the next roundhouse kick and profiled left just in time to avoid the next dart seeking his back from the shadows. It glanced off a nearby stalagmite to his left and the boy plucked it out of the air as it fell to the Earth, then rolled down himself, simultaneous avoiding the next punch and jamming the point of the dart into his closer opponent's right calve.

It was a calculated move that left the young martial artist open to the ninja's kick, but it was anticipated in the same manner and he used it to extract himself from hand-to-hand combat range. His opponent tensed to renew the offensive, but squinted, as if the child had suddenly become hard to see. He took a step and staggered forward like a drunk, barely able to coordinated his steps, suddenly finding the dart in his leg.

Another whisper of wind and Ranma was on the move again, staying just ahead of a new brace of dart from the unseen attacker while trying to resolve the situation he now found himself in. The exercise consisted of two and three-man groups vying for three different scrolls. The trap had lured one of the opposing three-man teams to their doom, but the flash-bang he had employed seemed to have worked too well, attracting the attention of another—

"AAAhhhARRR!"

Ranma threw himself behind a rock as a new scream punctured the darkness, one that came from the direction of whoever was chucking darts art him. Ranma peeked out from the rock as he revised his tactical assessment.

' _Three teams now…?'_

That wasn't part of aniki's plan.

"GOT YOU!" A new voice proclaimed and Ranma looked up just in time to watch a new ninja, this one with an eyepatch, fall from the darkness of the cavern ceiling. The boy kicked out just in time to avoid the plunge of a spear tip into the ground, batting it aside with the back of his hand. The one-eyed ninja took another swipe at him, missing before using the body harness he wore to retract himself back up into the darkness like a spider reeling in his web.

The attack was so sudden that the black haired boy almost missed the crush of gravel as a new presence charged his position. This time a dagger caught his shoulder in glancing, slicing the deltoid open while yet another ninja candidate stepped into melee range to challenge the boy…

… And then the one eyed ninja dropped again, this time targeting the new ninja, who brought two daggers up just in time to deflect the spear in a clash of steel on steel. More fighting sounded from the shadows and Ranma's quick glance showed a number of engagements shaping up as more ninja teams were gathered to the sight like moths to a flame.

" _YEEEAAAAAAHHHHH!"_

Steel whistled through the air as a new opponent found the wide-eyed Ranma while the spear user and his newest opponent fought at his back. The child's newest attacker was clad entirely in black- even his face –twirling a Chinese jian theatrically as he stalked the martial artist. The Saotome heir's senses were every at once, not only taking in the new aggressor, but the sounds of combat all around him. It was, for lack of a better word, a free for all. His attention snapped back to the black clad candidate as his posture tensed for the imminent attack…

…Until a shadow stepped out of the black like a phantom from behind him, securing a chokehold around the ninja's neck. The hooded figure resisted the man's efforts to struggle as Ranma watched with a smile that recognized the man and his ragged brown cloak. His victim's struggling quickly faded as oxygen deprivation took its toll, soon fading to the ground unconscious. The man took a quick glance around to clear his immediate space before pulling the hood back, eyeing the boy.

"What the hell, kid?!" Bruce griped as he patted down the body, pulling a baton from a leg sheath on the unconscious man. He tossed it to Ranma, who gave it a reflexive twirl to test its balance. The Wayne heir shook his head in disappointment. "I said bring 'a' team to you, not _all_ of the teams to you."

"Your bomb used too much black powder, aniki!" Ranma whined as he scanned for threats amongst the growing melee of teams. "They heard it for miles!"

"Alright, alright…" Bruce nodded, accepting responsibility for the riot now in progress and instead settled for working the problem. He glanced back at Ranma. "You got the other scroll?"

"Yep." The boy piped, still remarkably upbeat despite the deteriorating odds. "Tiger seal! One more to go!"

The adult winced. "The team I found had a Tiger Scroll as well. Looks like we're not getting out of this without taking somebody else down."

Ranma's nose crinkled as his own tactical assessment was made. "Messy."

"We need something to tilt the odds on our favor." Bruce nodded in agreement, glancing out from behind their cover at the ninja free-for-all taking place. His eyes narrowed and he glanced back to his teammate. "How's good's your blind fighting?"

A predatory smile found its way to the boy's face. "Since I was five years old good."

Wayne took another glance toward the middle of their cavern clearing and the lantern still burning at its center. It was the only thing the ninja riot hadn't yet touched. Ranma followed his gaze, then back to the man himself who nodded, confirming the unspoken plan. "Got it?"

"Got it, aniki."

The same predatory smile found its way on to Bruce Wayne's lips. "Then let's turn out the lights."

Master Kirigi stepped onto the balcony joining the League of Assassins leader as he watched over a new crop of trainees step through their katas at the behest of a lesser master. The aging white haired elder offered Ra's Al Ghul back a shallow bow as he retrieved a scroll from his shokzuka.

"The results, Master Ghul."

The green-cloaked assassin turned, taking the scroll while barely acknowledging the man's presence. The gray-haired man unfurrowed it and began to read, offering a minor chuckle to the air before turning back to Kirigi. "Wayne and Saotome, as expected."

"Indeed." His subordinate nodded. "The remainder of the report is mundane. Eight casualties. Eleven serious injuries. Five teams failed their mission outright."

"You know what to do." Ra's attention returned to the group of twenty new trainees, as if trying to pick out gems amongst gravel from afar.

"Of course." The older man acquiesced, already having made the arrangements for the teams that had failed what was, in another setting, their mid-term examination. The penalty for that failure would, unfortunately be more severe than a poorly graded report card. He paused, however, indulging in a bit of personal curiosity. "Have you decided? It would be a pity not to take them both on."

Ra's eyed his colleague for a moment before nodding. "True. Both are prodigies and both would become respected masters in their own right one day."

"But." Master Kirigi concluded, already knowing the man's thought process well enough to realize it was never quite that simple.

"But Wayne represents the bird in the hand to Saotome's two in the bush." Ra's Al Ghul stroked his graying goatee in thought, as if analyzing his own decision in the moment. "Could we groom the child for his role within the league? Most certainly. But Wayne is the tool we need in the here and now. He is the heir to a major corporation with significant financial reserves, and thus influence…"

The leader's words trailed off as a frown formed along his lips.

"…But he is _not_ ready." Ra's shook his head. "He must become a killer. A murder of men. His heart must be hardened. The Saotome child shall be the crucible by which this shall come to pass. No one else will do."

"Wasteful." Kirigi frowned, offering his council while knowing full well it would fall upon deaf ears. Even so, the reason for the close quartering of the pair became crystal clear—Form the attachment, then break it in a manner that favored Ghul's outcome. Upon further analysis, he saw two outcomes to Ra's one certainty- It would either forge Bruce Wayne into a weapon of unparalleled potential and lethality… or it would utterly break him.

Neither was really his concern.

"Make the preparations." Ra's Ah Gul turned back to the open balcony with flourish, his emerald green cape flowing along behind him. "It is the child's sacrifice that will forge the Wayne into the weapon we need him to become."

"Of course." The aging master produced a deferential nod for the League of Assassins leader, departing to carry out his orders.

Neither noticed the imperceptible presence silently spying on the exchange from the shadows of the rafters above.

* * *

 **Author's Notes-** The plot thickens, like a bowl of three day old turnip soup. But seriously, hope you're enjoying this. The forum is still up and hopping! Gain crucial insight! Ask burning questions! Listen to the author bitch about costume choices and other inconsequential plot details! **www.** **forum/Jusenkyo-Reactor/204450/** or just find the link at the top of my ffnet homepage.

 **Mademoiselle-** Yep, I'm crediting Ranma with decent knowledge of the culture considering he not only had to nearly marry a French guy with stretchy lips, but comb his library (probably in french) for a technique with which to beat him with all while using the correct fork.

 **Ninjafest-** If this resembles the Forest of Death test from an anime featuring other ninjas, it is ENTIRELY coincidental. **I SWEAR.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Weapon of Choice  
** By Ozzallos

 _Issue #4 – Lethal Weapon_

 **T** he good life.

She could almost taste it.

Nabiki Tendo hummed to herself as she scanned her daytimer, picking out the relevant information as her subordinate kept pace beside her, eyeing the Ice Queen as if an alien had taken over the girl. Several more notes floated between the pair before her friend arched a skeptical eyebrow.

"Was it good for you?" Arisa commented with a smirk, barely earning the Mercenary's attention save the slightest of smiles.

"You have no idea." Nabiki replied, shaking her head before finally turning her attention to her friend. "Let's just say that if this guy pays as well as Mister Han, my wardrobe might be seeing a significant upgrade in the near future."

"And a small cut for your ever-so-helpful minion's support?" The brunette offered the Tendo a sly smile, to which Nabiki rolled her eyes.

"What kind of evil overlord would I be if I didn't recognize the contributions of my henchman?" The middle sister replied with a chuckle, causing them both to laugh as they crossed the street, sighting their destination. She favored Arisa with a sidelong glance. "Let me tell you, that website is a gold mine."

"And your brother in-law is fine with it?" Her classmate wondered skeptically, only to receive a shrug.

"I wouldn't say he's fine with it," Nabiki replied with little in the way of emotional attachment. An amused expression formed with the thought regardless. "Though if you ask me, he probably enjoys it more than he's willing to admit."

Both girls stepped back onto the sidewalk, changing course for the boundary of the park that was their destination. Arisa's brow scrunched in confusion as she tried to discern the motive. "So your brother in-law… likes compensated dating … as a girl… with rich men?"

"He's an attention whore." Nabiki produced a curt laugh as she began to scan the greenery around them. Her gaze flicked across the pedestrian traffic before spotting her mark waiting casually by the central fountain. Arisa's eyes followed hers, noting the tanned thirty something in sunglass. His dark gray slacks and business jacket certainly spoke of means even if the way he wore them didn't. The jacket was left open, and beneath it, a pink dress shirt with several collar buttons already buttoned. A gold chain hung from his neck as if to advertise his wealth while he, in turn, consulted a smartphone. The Mercenary glanced back to Arisa.

"Mister Ito," Nabiki explained as she altered her heading to intersect with the goateed man. "From what I gather, he's a playboy whose image requires being seen with a hook-up twenty-four seven."

Arias frowned as the man sighted them, motioning them over. "Um, he looks like somebody looking for more than a hookup, boss."

"Saotome's problem, not mine." Nabiki shrugged, but addressed the missive regardless. "But seriously, it's nothing Akane's boy-toy can't handle."

"If you say so." Her subordinate commented, still not entirely sure herself. The guy gave off a greasy vibe that only seemed to get worse as they approached, magnified by the not so subtle once-over he favored the them with as they approached. If Nabiki noticed, it didn't show in her expression as she offered him a shallow bow.

"Ito-san, a pleasure to meet you." Nabiki smiled and received a covetous leer in return.

"Nabiki-chan, thanks for coming." He returned lazily, peering at her over the bridge of his sunglasses before looking over the girl next to her. He cocked his head. "And certainly not Ranko."

Nabiki continued while Arisa was busy deciding whether or not to be insulted. "She's a business associate. For note-keeping, if you will."

"I see." Ito scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"If I recall, your email mentioned a party of some sort?" The Ice Queen moved the conversation along to financial details of their meeting.

"Actually yes," The tanned man nodded. Nabiki watched his smile warp into a sneer. "It's really a party for Ranko."

"For… her…?" Nabiki's own expression turned down into a frown with the man's creepy attitude while she wondered just what he meant by the statement.

"Your friend interrupted a very important business transaction." Ito nodded, brushing the right breast of his suit jacket aside to reveal the grip of a silver pistol tucked into his belt. Nabiki stepped back, only to hear a gasp from her friend.

"Umm, boss?" Arisa whispered, causing Nabiki to turn as she perceived the note of fear in her subordinate's voice. Two men in black suits sauntered up behind the brunette, both with guns similarly concealed in their waistband. The mercenary stared in disbelief for a moment, then turned back to the tanned man and his smirk.

"What… Why…?"

And the worst part was she had taken precautions against just this sort of thing. She had chosen a public place to meet. She had a witness. And neither seemed to matter in the here and now, surrounded by three gunman. Nabiki took a moment to calm herself and fix the man with a cold stare. "We'll scream."

"And you'll be dead." Ito shrugged, as if shooting her in a public park would barely be the inconvenience she was hoping it would be. He leaned over into her space, matching her eye level. The man was so close now that she could smell the mint of his breath mixed with the rot of cigarette smoke. "How about you come with us instead?"

"Why?" Nabiki wondered with a hoarse whisper. Her kidnapper had no problems offering her the reason.

"You're the insurance that Ranko will show up for our party." He smirked, then nodded back at Arisa. One of the henchmen took the unspoken order and retrieved a folded white sheet of paper from the breast of his jacket while Ito's attention returned to Nabiki. "You're friend here is a note taker? So take this note back to Ranko. Tell her not to be late."

With that, the frozen black-haired girl watched and felt as the note was tucked into the collar of her shirt with a chuckle. The men behind Arisa brushed past her a moment, surrounding Nabiki as if to herd her in the direction they wanted. Her last glimpse of the Tendo was a terrified look in her eyes.

Arisa turned.

 _And ran._

* * *

 **S** pecial occasions called for special clothing.

It was a fact that had been informally drilled into the teenage martial artist ever since his arrival in Nerima, as if it were a martial art unto itself. Whether it was the challenge of the week or some lost island adventure, dressing the part seemed almost mandatory; and Ranma didn't appear alone in that regard. It was happenstance shared by somebody he had looked up to in his youth, though the reason for doing so was obvious—It was hard to be a mysterious, ass kicking ninja if everybody knew you were a corporate billionaire on the side.

It was with that in mind the martial artist picked through the guest room closet, trying to decide on the special clothing for this particular occasion while Akane watched her sometimes fiancé with crossed arms and a dour look from the doorway.

"You realize how wrong this is, right?" The youngest Tendo posed in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the impropriety of a male picking through a closet of female clothing that belonged to him was self-evident. The black-haired teen paused at one of the hangers, as if to contemplate her statement before nodding.

"You're right."

Akane blinked in surprise as she watched Ranma step away from the closet, nodding to her as she brushed past, exiting the room to navigate the hall. Her mouth hung open, now clearly at a loss for words since she hadn't actually thought he would take her seriously. She leaned out of the room and watched him duck into the bathroom, where the sound of running water was briefly discerned. A petite redhead emerged seconds later, adjusting her clothing as she walked toward the sister now staring at her with a bland expression.

"That's not what I meant, baka." Akane cast a baleful stare at Ranma's back as the boy-turned-girl returned to the closet. She shook her head in irritation at the failure to convey her point, trying another approach instead. "What does this have to do with Nabiki's friend, anyway?"

"Remember how your sister challenged that ten yen guy?" Ranma commented as she paused in her search, multitasking her conversation with the inspection of a red and black leotard. Ranma glanced back to his fiancée as she nodded her remembrance and the redhead continued matter-of-factly. "It's like that, but with Yakuza."

Akane Tendo's bulged with alarm, suddenly looking back out into the rest of the house as if to make sure the criminal organization weren't at their very doorstep. Her worried gaze snapped back onto Ranma. "We've got to do something!"

"Already on it." The martial artist stated in a detached, if distracted tone as she continued to work through the closet's wardrobe.

"Well?!" The girl behind her balked at the insufficient level of detail concerning her fiancé's plan. "When are we going to rescue her?!"

Ranma paused again, this time shaking her head as she turned to face Akane. "I'm going. You're staying here."

"But I'm a—!"

Suddenly she found the redhead's blue eyes fixed upon her as she firmly interposed her own statement against Akane's bluster. "No. somebody needs to stay behind to make sure nobody comes back for Arisa or tries to take it out on Kasumi-chan instead. I was careful getting back here, but that ain't no guarantee."

"They… what?" Akane blinked, suddenly unsure of the scenario Ranma was outlining.

"Whoever they are, they only know what I look like as a girl." The martial artist continued seriously. "If that's all they know, I'd like ta keep it that way, but somebody needs to stay behind just in case. Between you, your old man and the Panda, it should be pretty safe for 'em."

"I… okay…" Akane conceded almost against her will as her imagination conjured up imagery of her sister in the hands of Yakuza thugs. She glanced back out the guestroom door to double check the hallway before returning her attention to Ranma, only to find the girl sorting through her wardrobe once more. Her brow scrunched at the effort. "But what does _that_ have to do with _this?_ "

"Somethin' a friend reminded me of recently." Ranma paused again, pulling another garment to be sized up. The cheongsam hadn't come back from the cleaners yet, but the garment in hand would do just fine. She turned a smile back on Akane with the selection. "Special clothes for special occasions, right?"

"That depends on if you're going to fight them or strip for them." The youngest Tendo stated blandly as she watched her fiancée size the golden yellow Chinese mini against herself in the mirror. Roses bloomed long its length, chased by small emerald leaves. It was all Akane could do to not smack Ranma upside the head with her fist. "You're a _guy_ , remember?"

"And that's the best part," The redhead smiled back, clearly enjoying this part of whatever plan she had concocted. "Kick their ass in the curse, splash it off when I'm finished. Nothin' to trace back to us when we're done."

Akane arched a skeptical eyebrow. The plan seemed logically sound, yet the girl in the doorway couldn't get past the wrongness of how causally her fiancée was preparing for a night out in a revealing Chinese mini-dress. She watched Ranma set it on the bed as her fingers began to negotiate the top clasp of her collar, then the next. By the third, Akane realized that Ranma was actually going to undress in front of her, drawing her attention away from her fiancee's many misadventures in female clothing and back to the redhead's complete lack of feminine modesty.

"Seriously." Akane offered her thoughts on the matter with a contemptuous roll of her eyes, stepping out to close the door behind her. From her new vantage point, she could see just out the hallway and into the living room where a nervous black-haired girl sat, nursing a cup of tea while Kasumi rested a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder.

' _Arisa,'_ Akane put a name to the face. One of Nabiki's friends. _'Underlings,'_ she corrected herself, not entirely certain that her elder sister had friends of any sort. Akane mulled over the circumstances that had brought the girl to their doorstep in such a panic and how it was normally her that got kidnapped. The door clicked open behind her even as she imagined plowing through ranks of Yakuza kidnappers, turning to find the Ranma stepping out, all-too casually flexing her leg back to slip on a short red heel to match the one she already wore. The school girl held the martial artist with a dry look until the redhead noticed with an uncomprehending expression.

"What?"

The youngest Tendo's mouth opened in pause as her neurons fought with just how to express her indignation. Irritation at just how easily he made the transition from boy martial artist to super model. Offense that her fiancée couldn't comprehend why it was so wrong. Resentment that Ranma actually made it look good; possibly even better than she could have being a real girl. Even worse, there was no possible way she was wearing boxers under that mini dress, leaving only two options available in terms of undergarments. Akane's mouth tried once more to force a thought through the mental log jam, only to settle upon an exasperated sigh.

"Just _go_." The dark haired girl replied, summing up all of her thoughts into a single impatient response.

Ranma stared for a moment then shrugged, taking the lead out into the hallway to rejoin the rest of the family. Their presence was instantly noted, and Arisa's worried look fell immediately upon Ranma. The redhead produced her own concerned look for the girl. "You good?"

"I…" Arisa tried to answer, forcing herself to take a deep breath before continuing. "I think so."

"We got this." The martial artist nodded, offering Nabiki's cohort a slight, yet confident smile. Ranma gestured to the Tendo next to her. "All you have to do is sit tight. If anybody comes snoopin' around, Akane-chan'll kick their ass."

The girl looked from Ranma to Akane, who forced herself to nod with the sudden mantle of responsibility and trust. She barely had time to analyze the odd sense of pride she felt with it when the next question came.

"What about… Sempai—I mean, Nabiki?" The girl wondered hesitantly. Ranma nodded with the question, already having an answer.

"That's my job." The redhead responded. "Kick ass, take names and get her home safe."

Arisa produced a tepid nod, but it was Kasumi who noticed her future brother-in-law's slight hesitation through the bravado she was putting up for the girl.

"Ranma?"

The confident smile faded a bit as Kasumi's simple inquiry focused the three girl's attention on the pigtailed girl's person. Her blue eyed gazed flicked from one to another as she picked her next words carefully.

"I… It's…" Ranma paused, trying to find the best way to frame her concerns before continuing with a slight frown. "These guys ain't your love-struck prince or the average martial arts challenger. She might be a bit banged up by the time I get to her and our first stop might not be home, if you catch my meaning."

"Oh my…" Kasumi put her hand over her mouth with wide eyes with the implication even as Akane balled her fist, seething at the possibility.

"I mean, hopefully not, but I might need one of you to run interference on your old man when we get back." The Saotome warned solemnly, watching as Kasumi produced an equally solemn nod.

Akane stared at her oft-times fiancée as if something had changed. She wasn't sure what it was or where it originated, but there was something different in spite of the propensity to play dress-up at the most inappropriate of times or the connotations of perversion such activities insinuated. The martial artist was turning to leave when Akane's hand flashed out on reflex, grabbing onto the girl's wrist. Blue eyes wondered back at her, glancing from the hold to her own dark brown eyes.

"Give the person who did it an extra punch for me," The youngest Tendo advised direly before her expression softened. "And be careful."

Ranma returned the soft smile with the barest of nods before it turned rougish. "Careful I can't guarantee, but I'll throw in an extra beat down just for you."

Akane nodded, her hand slipping off the girl's wrist. Their mutual gaze held for another sentimental moment before the redhead turned away, setting a course for the front door.

* * *

" **B** ut what I still don't get is your connection in all of this…" Ito wondered aloud as he withdrew his fist from Nabiki's stomach, leaving the chained girl gagging as she hung from an overhead rafter. The girl would have screamed in pain saved the fact that the sucker punch that had forcefully displaced her internal organs also emptied her lungs of air, reducing the scream and her pleas to stop into little more than gasping. Her balance faltered, but the chain binding her wrists overhead ensured only her tip-toes remained in contact with ground. The overly tanned Yakuza shook his head as he paced around the middle Tendo, as if trying to reason her presence out for himself.

"The Batman is bad enough," Ito shook his head, taking a long drag from the cigarette he was nursing, then used its glowing tip to point at the girl. "And that redheaded chick of his… Which one is she, again? Bat Woman? Bat Girl?""

He turned to one of his subordinates standing by on watch with the question as he struggled with the redhead's identity. The other yakuza shrugged and Ito returned to the wheezing teen. "So now I got a batman and his crazy bat bitch crashing my operation, and some high school girl running a bogus modeling website for them."

He stepped back over to the nearly senseless girl, shaking his head in mock disappointment as he traced a finger down her bruised and bloodied face. "What are you hiding, girl?"

"I don't… I'm just— _UUUggh!"_

Ito's backhand smashed across Nabki's face, snapping her head sideways while the force imparted was enough to cause her to swing back and forth on the chain. Blood dripped away from her nose while the Yakuza inspected his hand and the crimson smeared across it. Ito wiped them across the pink of his dress shirt, shaking his head as he voiced his opinion in mocking disbelief. "Yeah, you're just a little school girl in Nerima where the only people stupid enough to set up shop are small time fences who don't know any better and dumbasses waiting to get squashed by some random martial artist, right?"

A hacking cough racked the teen's frame as blood dripped from her mouth. "I'm… I don't know…"

"Bullshit." The tanned man countered, letting the almost spent cigarette fall from his fingers and down to the concrete where he stepped on it. He leaned into to her personal space where she barely became aware of the stale mint on his breath through the throbbing pain. "You're running interference. I'm not sure for what, but I'm going to—"

The head Yakuza paused as one of his men stepped up to him, his finger lightly resting on the electronic bud resting in his ear. "West entrance reports contact. They have her."

The boss was just about to issue another order when a three-round burst of gunfire reported through the walls of the garage as if to punctuate his henchman's statement. A cruel smile to spread across Ito's face.

"And that's the end of that." He chuckled as his hand drifted to his waist and onto the chromed Beretta 92 tucked into his belt. Nabiki's swollen black and blue eye- the only one she could open -widened as he pulled it out, pushing the barrel into her chin. He leaned back into her face with faux sympathy. "You just went from resource to liability. Don't take it personally."

Nabiki Tendo whimpered in terror as the pressure of his trigger finger increased fractionally… Then paused as his subordinate returned to his side.

"We've lost contact with West Entrance."

A bland look flickered across the lead Yakuza's face before he turned a haughty smirk back upon the hanging girl, pulling the gun away from the bottom of her chin. He gave her an affectionate pat on the cheek. "Looks like you'll be sticking around just a bit long, minx."

Ito stepped away from the girl, watching his lieutenant carefully as the man tended to the radio in hand. "Interior, stand by for contact. Shoot anything that—"

 _ **Crack! CrackCrackCrack! CrackCrack!**_

The yakuza boss cocked his head as the staccato of gun shots reverberated through the walls. A slight pause allowed them to echo though the garage before renewing enmasse, causing the man to frown. There had already been too much gunfire to have successfully dropped their guest and even as he was about to take the radio for himself, the shots stopped. Silence dominated the space once more and Ito shot a look at his lieutenant, who merely shook his head.

Another team lost.

"Impossible…" He hissed, turning a glance toward the garage entrance, then the upper level where more yakuza stood watch. He made a hand sign and every gun swung toward the door even as the staggered sound of automatic weapons resumed.

"West end engaging!" His lieutenant called out over the furious static and screams punctuating the gunshots that could be heard over both his radio and in real time. "Mezzanine has contact!"

"She can't be in two places at once, dammit!" The boss screamed back as the feeling of having bitten off more than he could chew settled in with icy dread. "Find her and—"

 _Laughter._ It was a sad, bitter laughter that interrupted his orders and he turned to see the hanging schoolgirl laugh, or at least trying to between coughing fits. He stomped over to her and pushed the butt of his ninety-two against her chin, forcing her to make eye contact against his scowl.

"What's so funny, bitch?" Ito snarled, noting her laughter wasn't coming from a smile.

"You've— _cough_ —You've got no idea— _cough_ \- what's coming do you?" Nabiki tried to hold his gaze, but the strain was too much, forcing her to rely on the pistol pushing against her chin instead.

"So why don't you tell me?" He switched grips; his hand holding her face up so that he could point the gun squarely into her forehead.

"I can't raise the rooftop!"

"Forty-eight kilos of 'fuck you'." The edge of a cruel smile crept to her face against the Yakuza's scowl. It marred his features for a few moments before he relented, chuckling at her fierceness.

"I like you, kid," Ito smirked, tapping her head softly with the tip of the pistol's barrel as if to emphasize his point. "It'll be a shame when I have to kill you to distract the bat bitch."

Nabiki jerked her head out of his grip, eliciting another chuckle from the man as he turned back to the tattooed lieutenant with a nod. "Call her up."

The lieutenant key the button as directed, changing the channel to relay his boss's instruction.

"You're on the clock."

* * *

 **T** he directions were simple enough: Come alone and unarmed. Ranma chuckled to herself as she approached the half-opened gate fence topped with barbed wire and beyond it, the barren property of a seemingly abandoned building. Sure, there had been something in the note about keeping Nabiki alive as long as she followed their instructions, but growing up on the road had taught her things, especially when those things involved her old man stealing from, and she suspected _for_ , the Yakuza during their training trip.

' _Nah. They'll off her if it means getting me faster,'_ The redhead acknowledged as a matter-of-fact while stepping through the gate, not bothering with stealth. The crunch of her slippers on gravel immediately attracted the attention of the guards stationed just outside the building's main entrance—Two at the entrance itself, a third providing overwatch on the ledge above. All three were armed with some sort of black rifle, their bodies covered head to toe in black ballistic padding that defined her tactics even as they took notice of her.

"DON'T MOVE!"

The rifles snapped up immediately, bracketing her with blinding beams of high powered flashlights. Another voice hollered out a command as she stopped with a smile on her face, as if pleased they had finally noticed her. "HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD! NOW!"

"MOVE AND WE'LL BLOW YOUR HEAD OFF!" The third screamed from the roof as his two compatriots rushed forward, their rifles trained on her the entire time. Laser dots bounced around her silk encased bust until the pair violated personal space, one rifle stuck in her face while the other pressed into her back.

"West Entrance; we've got her." The one facing her spoke into his walkie as he multitasked the barrel dominating her field of vision. He leaned around to catch sight of his companion behind her with the slightest edge of hesitation in his voice. "Check her for… eh, weapons."

The other soldier arched an eyebrow, already knowing the reason for his partner's pause. His eyes swept down the redhead's figure with some measure of doubt as well. The cheongsam mini she wore was absolutely formfitting, leaving absolutely no room for weapons, concealed or otherwise. In fact, it took some imagination to envision where she would hide those weapons, ending in the slightest of smiles on his face as the man placed one hand on her hip, letting it slide down. The other gloved hand found her inner thigh, where he paused.

"Don't take it personally, hot stuff." He chuckled and began the slide upward.

Her smile turned to a knowing smirk as he rode the hem of the skirt up. The guard in front of her swallowed, his eyes drifting down with unconscious male reflex.

' _Suckers.'_ Her hand swept out almost invisibly, swatting the barrel in face aside even as her back leg rose abruptly to catch the man behind her in a lock, her leg snapping around his neck like a vice. She pivoted, throwing her groper to the ground while pulling the rifle aimed at her in, bringing her face to face with the soldier in front of her. "Don't take it personally."

His elbow popped as her grip moved down his arm, then swung the rest of the joint well beyond its ability to flex. His shoulder was next, and the unfired rifle fell into her hands as the guard screamed. Even as he was stumbling back, his counterpart behind her was clamoring for his weapon. He had no sooner got his hand on it when Ranma's own newly acquired rifle slammed down, grounding his weapons muzzle. The last thing he saw was the perfection of her leg as it smashed into his face foot first, depriving him of consciousness while she used the momentum to roll back into the silhouette of the first combatant

 _ **Crack! CrackCrack! Crack!**_

The gravel around her suddenly puckered with miniature explosions as the rooftop soldier opened up on her and consequently his partner as well. She swung around inside his larger frame as his back took fire, causing the man to shudder with each bullet while she, in turn, hoped his bullet proof jacket was worth whatever he had paid for it. Regardless, she wasn't waiting for the reload and used his mass to swing out, abruptly disappearing from the third soldier's sight.

By the time he pulled his eye away from the red dot optic of his rifle, she was there. In front of him. _Floating._ The snapshot framed in his mind was that of some annoyed redheaded goddess floating down to him, her yellow-gold Chinese mini fluttering in the wind with her descent. There was no way he could bring the rifle to bear fast enough as the terminal portion of her arc brought her over his head where two kicks smashed into his face like powered pistons. Soldier number three dropped to the deck unconscious by the time she landed in crouch next to him. She cleared her immediate area surroundings of threats and nodded to herself.

The clock was ticking.

Her study immediately fell upon the second floor door, causing her to smirk as she drew upright to traverse the balcony, sidling along a wall just around the corner instead. The material was thin sheet-metal and her intellect judged that it wouldn't take much to breach it outright. _So she did._ Ranma's right leg flexed up and violently smashed into the wall, following up with a punching combination that violently tore the barrier apart to allow for her forced entry into the interior…

…And no less than five black clad troopers arrayed around the unopened door, their rifles pointed at it as if expecting a curvy marital artist to burst through at any moment. Except she hadn't. She hadn't even stopped as she tore through the adjacent wall and into the squad waiting in ambush. Shock and surprise was only beginning to register on their faces, but their target was already in their midst, reaching out for the first soldier's rifle, smashing it backwards and into his face before taking it for her own where she used it like a quarterstaff.

Dust and fragments of insulation followed her breach and the second soldier was barely tracking her through the debris when the redhead used her rifle to smack his to the side, then slammed the buttstock into the side of his face. Stars blasted across his vision, then the sudden spike of pain as she kicked his knee out in passing even as she engaged the third. Ranma simply sidestepped his three round burst and unleashed a punching combination into his chest that the padded body armor he wore was in no way designed to protect against. The soldier folded like a rag doll and his face met her rising knee, snapping his flattened nose and bloodied visage back into unconsciousness.

The forth soldier was aiming. Ranma reversed the grip on her own rifle and pulled back, flinging it at him like an axe. Its flight time was less than a second and the rounds he managed to trigger went into the floor as her thrown rifle beaned him in the head, concussing her target and forcing him to stagger drunkenly back. She was on him in two quick steps, pushing him into the final soldier who couldn't decide whether to hold his fire or shoot through his comrade to get to her. The decision was made moot less than a second later as soldier four's mass plowed into him, entangling both as she moved into grapple with the mass of arms and legs. By the time the screaming had stopped, the pair lay in an inert pile of dislocated limbs as the teen herself brushed off her hands, admiring her handiwork.

More gunfire.

This time it wasn't close, its sonic crack having to have gone through several walls and floors to to meet her eardrum. The sound and what it represented caused her to quirk a smile as she considered her next random act of violence. Ranma Saotome's eyes fell to her unconscious victims and their bandoliers of equipment. Spare ammunition. A radio. Grenades.

Her smile only grew.

* * *

 **T** he ceiling exploded.

It died by fire, literally ripping itself apart in sheets of flame above the fourth squad's heads. Fire and debris rained down upon the surprise cluster of mercenaries as they scattered in panic, not noticing the metallic cylinder falling amidst their squad or the hiss that abruptly began to disgorge a billowing cloud of white smoke to accompany the burning remains of drywall and ceiling tiles.

Visibility dropped to almost zero within the garage space all while the squad leader wondered what misfortune had befallen his team. The idea of a gas leak was just forming in his mind when the man to his right suddenly disappeared, literally pulled into the smoke saturated inferno as if some mystical force had plucked him away.

"AMBUSH!" He screamed out for the other team members he couldn't see and unleashed a three-round burst into the space his team member had disappeared into with friendly fire being the last thing on his mind. No sooner than he had did another burst of gunfire meet his ears, flashing through the smoke off to the right with an accompanying scream. More gunfire flashed, this time from the right. The sharp sting of pain caught his left deltoid, causing the lead to flinch as the muscle group exploded with blood.

"Fuck!" He snarled with the stray bullet's passage and sent another three-round burst into a swirl of perceived movement. Another scream and then silence. Smoke continued to drift around him and now the only sound he could perceive was the crackle of fire and sound of his own heartbeat as it pounded between his ears. His shoulder throbbed with pain while the wet trickle of blood seeped down his arm. It was a superficial wound and he had more important things to worry about. The merc took a step back to nowhere in particular, calling out into the smoke. "Squad, sound off!"

Nothing.

He gripped his rifle tighter, scanning the limited visibility available to him, then upward to where a hole ripped through the ceiling was barely visible. His hand dropped warily from the forearm of his rifle and down to his walkie, keying it as he brought it up. His mouth was just opening to report when a dainty arm wrapped around his neck and jerked him back hard.

"Gack-!"

A choked gurgle was the only sound he could make as he fell backward into another body. He dropped the walkie and tried to claw at his assailant, only to have his wrist intercepted, then twisted into painful submission. Something kicked his rifle away and the next thing he saw was a beautiful girl, her upside-down face innocently watching him as the vice of her arm choked off his air supply. Free of the rifle, he made another last, desperate grab at the beauty hanging over him. Suddenly, his left wrist blossomed in pain as she balanced it on the very edge of breaking it outright. The beautiful redhead shook her head sympathetically, communicating her intentions clearly to her victim. His right hand hung just beyond her red mane, but froze as his left wrist was held in the balance.

The squad lead tried to say something, but managed little more than a gasp, his world fading out with the beautiful girl being his last conscious sight. His body fell limp and Ranma nodded to herself, gently lowering the goateed soldier to the floor before turning to the barely visible interior door that represented her goal.

Inside, Ito waited, walking behind Nabiki with his gun loosely resting on her shoulder, pointing into the side of her jaw while using her body as a shield. He glanced at his lieutenant, who nodded his silent understanding. They had twelve men and every weapon they had was pointed at the door. It was the only way in or out and the moment it opened, they would unload everything into it.

"I have to admit, she's something else," The boss murmured into the school girl's ear without taking his eyes off the door. "I had eight full squads waiting for her and she's still coming."

"You… Still have… have no idea, do you?" Nabiki coughed, shaking her head in an almost sympathetic manner.

"Don't worry. I've got insurance." He advised, giving her butt a squeeze with his free hand through her jeans while pushing the muzzle of the pistol deeper into her cheek, as if it would make some significant difference in the speed at which the bullet would be delivered. Ito smiled. "Me and her are going to—"

 _ **THWaM!**_

The door burst open suddenly, sheering away from its hinges as one piece. It violently tumbled from the frame while an angry gout of smoke billowed behind it, pouring into their storage room. The moment's worth of shock and awe wore off, but it was their boss's scream that got his men doing what they should have done the moment the door fell from its frame.

"Fire! _**FIRE**_ , DAMN IT!"

If there were words spoken after that command, they were washed away by the deafening sound of overlapping gunfire as it poured into the smoke, pot marking the door frame and wall with holes. Spent casings danced along the concrete floor as magazines were expended, stripped and reloaded in order to continue the saturation from every angle until the volume of fire began to slacken. It took another thirty seconds for Ito's lieutenant to realize he was the only one firing and finally released his own trigger. Neither Ito or his lieutenant took their eyes off the door, while the lieutenant himself motioned forward toward the door.

"Sazuka, check for her body." He ordered to one of the little brothers, lowering himself to a crouch as he pulled the depleted magazine from his own weapon, hand padding at his vest for a new one. A frown found his face as nobody moved for the doorway, forcing him to repeat the order. "Sazuka! I said…"

The lieutenant glance back, his eyes widening. The men he had stationed along the perimeter behind cover had collapsed, as if stricken by a sudden bout of narcolepsy. His eyes snapped to the second level. Another man hung over the railing. A second sprawled out on the catwalk. Even Ito was whirling around, suddenly realizing that the lack of fire wasn't due to ammunition restraints or simple prudence. The door had been a distraction. All twelve of his men save himself and his subordinate had been taken out even as they fired blindly into the smoke.

 _Thunk!_

His head whipped around, sighting his lieutenant just in time to watch him collapse in the company of the girl advertised as 'Ranko'. His eyes darted from the man's unconscious body to the distraction of her curves. The yellow mini she had chosen to wear looked burned and cut in places, but there was nothing to show that his eight squads or the massed fire they had just dsipensed had even inconvenienced her save the bored look on her face. The pistol in Ito's hand began to tremble fearfully.

"You…You…."

"How ya doing, Nabs?" Ranma cocked her head, taking in the beat up girl's condition with a frown. A chuckle devoid of humor drifted from the hanging girl's throat.

"Been— _cough_ —been better, Saotome." The girl managed to look up with dead smile where her bloodied and bruised cheek was clearly visible to the martial artist. Her left eye was swollen shut , blood trickling from her busted lip. Ranma's frown deepened as her blue eyes focused on Ito.

"Playtime's over, asshole." She menaced and began to walk toward the yakuza man.

"Stop! You had better stop!" He screamed, waving the gun as if to remind the redhead of its presence. "I'll kill her! Don't think that I won't!"

Ranma considered the man and his threat. If he decided to pull the trigger, there would be no way she could stop him in time. The real question became if he would really do it. Maybe, maybe not. But there was a way she could make him think twice about it thanks to a friend. She stared, taking a moment to step into the right frame of mind before speaking.

"I think you just might," Ranma nodded, but continued her prowl forward as if she were on the hunt. "But then there wouldn't be anything stopping me from getting to you. After that, life becomes kinda unpleasant."

"I… I…" Ito blinked, trying to think the angles through for himself while watching the girl close in on him and his hostage step by step. He eyed the girl as his confidence seemed to find resurgence. "You're one of them! A hero type! You wouldn't dare!"

"Kill you? Nah, that's not me." Ranma shrugged, stopping as if to contemplate the matter. "But we would spend a couple days… You know, chatting."

The boss swallowed hard as he could only imagine the implications of just what their chat would consist of. Sure, she was a complete babe and under other circumstances would welcome the chat, but these were the Bats, after all. They were renowned for not playing as nice as the others. Still, it wouldn't be as bad as-

"And after that chat, I would hand you over to whoever hired you. Maybe leave you hanging in Yamaguchi-gumi territory." She offered and the man jerked back as if shot by her words. _Now_ he took a step back, not quite abandoning his hostage, but not quite wanting to be associated with her either as the redhead continued with bored menace. "I'm sure they'd be pretty eager to find out about what happened here… And what we talked about. _Together._ "

She allowed the last word to hang with a suggestive lilt. His mouth opened, completely dry and for lack of any sort of rebuttal because everything she had just described would be about how it would go down. Not only would he have to endure whatever she had planned, but his bosses would be wondering what the hell had happened. It wasn't just the failure involved anymore, but the suggestion of collusion. The interrogation would be… _memorable_.

"Fuck… Fuck you." The lone Yakuza wheezed, now actively edging away from the martial artist as his aim wavered indecisively between herself and Nabiki's back. Ranma continued her slow stride forward, now every bit involved in reproducing the role she had already seen work well on other criminals. Her improvisation came with a twist courtesy of the body she wore, mixing the threat of overt violence with that of femme fatale. The now ragged cheongsam mini only helped to complete the image as each swaying strut brought her one step closer, forcing her mark one step back.

For Ito, it was almost the worst case scenario come to life. The bat-babe had carved through every single defensive layer, forcing him into a situation where he couldn't just outright shoot his hostage. If he did that, he could tell there would be no pity in those ice cold blue eyes of hers and that it would happen exactly as she said it would: First her, then them. He couldn't just give his hostage away either. The school girl was his only leverage, but the redhead wasn't stopping.

Step. Step. Step. Each sexy sway of her hips brought her closer and if he took another in retreat, he might as well just run. And keep running, hoping to remain one step ahead of his Yakuza brethren.

"I think this has gone on long enough." Ito blink with the new feminine voice at his back, then slowly smiled. The insurance policy had finally arrived.

"You're late." He quipped without looking back, a measure of confidence finally returning as he watched the redhead's face fade from menace to uncertainty.

"So was your master's payment." The voice quipped casually behind him, walking up to join the man while Ranma watched.

She was good. Those were Ranma Saotome's first thoughts as the woman seemingly melted from the shadows of the far wall, striding forward with gait that spoke of balance and skill. She was likewise Asian. While the martial artist couldn't tell from what country, he was betting her heritage was Chinese of some sort based on the sharper angles of her facial features. A katana rode diagonal along her back, strapped to her red and black bodysuit by a black leather cord. The fact that she was older, in her late forties, didn't register as a factor against Ranma's threat assessment of the long, black-haired woman. Cologne was older than dirt and could still make her wish she hadn't gotten out of bed on any particular day.

Her eyes darted to Nabiki, hanging a mere ten steps away.

She would have to wait.

' _Just a little longer,'_ Ranma willed her silent apology at the girl, who seemed to interpret the look for what it was, barely nodding in kind.

"You know your orders, right?" Ito glanced over to the woman joining his side, who in turn nodded sedately.

"Eliminate any loose ends." She confirmed. Her hand abruptly flashed out, sweeping cross his neck and the ventilating his carotid arteries with the hooked blade of a karambit. A bloody mist exploded, followed by a flood of crimson down his shirt while the man clamored to cut it off. The woman merely stepped beyond him to square off against the gaping redhead, watching the man quite literally die before her. She smirked for the martial artist, her lips taking on a cruel turn. "He was a loose end. So are you."

There was a final gurgle behind her as the man attempted to emote something before collapsing to his knees, then falling over in a pool of his own blood. Ranma stared in shock for another moment before her gaze hardened for the woman before her. Automation took over in place of thought and Ranma dropped into her stance that wasn't, waiting for the woman's first move while her own tactics crystalized in her mind's eye.

If the woman was good enough to avoid detection, she was good enough for Ranma to take seriously and the redhead was already assuming that every move she made would be a lethal attempt based on her complete disregard for life. She watched as the woman shrugged her black overcoat off, dropping the bloody hooked knife in favor of drawing the katana.

The assassin gave it a tight twirl, pointing Ranma out with it it's edge and a malicious smirk. "Shall we?"

"Yeah." Ranma nodded, returning a humorless smile. "Let's dance."

Ranma didn't have a clue as to who the woman was but she was fast and good. Her initial lunge devoured the distance in less than a second, forcing the redhead to dodge the measured, precise cuts of her sword while negotiating her following spin-kick combination that beat at Ranma's forearm guard in lieu of her face. The katana came back in as the assassin used her momentum to sweep it across her body, only to find the girl already airborne above the horizontal slice. The black-haired woman's own arms snapped up to absorb her opponent's own brutal two kick combination that force her back and into a roll, Her hand flashed out through the evasion, unleashing a trio of senbon at point blank range only to watch the girl twist improbably to evade them. The woman reset her stance warily flexing her sore bicep while calculating the unlikely amount of strength her opponent seemed to hold in reserve despite her size and stature.

She didn't remain in place for long, however, charging back in with her sword, slicing at the air furiously even as the redhead seemed to float just millimeters beyond each stroke. With the eighth stroke, she evaded the blade with a purposeful side step and renewed her attack with a flurry of punches that the woman was forced to intercept in hand to hand.

 _Too fast!_

The assassin's intellect screamed with the threat as the girl half her age changed styles, suddenly flowing in with a series of kicks that appeared to be rooted in Tae Kwon Do. The next attack nearly took her head off and the woman flipped back out of range with some small amount of respect seeping into her features.

"Your combat style seems… _Familiar_." She mused as she pulled a second, shorter wakizashi from the belt riding her hips. The fact that she couldn't read her body language weighed heavily on her… Annoyingly so.

"We probably know the same people." Ranma commented off hand, waiting for the woman to resume combat. The woman simply acknowledged her with a nod, gesturing to herself.

"Lady Shiva," She offered and Ranma shrugged.

"Ranko," Ranma returned, checking her first impulse to reveal her real name.

"It's a shame to have to kill off somebody so talented, but…" The woman let her hesitation hang, hesitation that abruptly evaporate with her charge at Ranma. Two swords flashed for her, weaving a tapestry of steel through the air as Ranma flipped backwards, falling into a roll as the assassin followed. The shorter sword came down and this time Ranma caught her arm at the wrist, twisting it enough to wrench the blade free of grasp. It clattered away, but its longer cousin swept in, barely missing her head as the martial artist ducked low to avoid it. Suddenly, the knife hand of Lady Shiva's fingers were there, pressing into her chest just above the right breast. Another followed in combination, but the girl profiled left and away to negate the third and fourth in combination.

Pain bloomed through Ranma's chest, but she slapped the next kick away, determined to return the favor. The blade came into play once more and Rnama sidestepped into it with a malicious smile.

 _Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken Kansei._

Shiva's head snapped sideways as a myriad of untraceable strikes blurred in. She intercepted ten, maybe twenty of the high-speed attacks before her guard failed entirely, falling apart to open her vitals to the girl. Pain spiked from everywhere and her sword clattered away even as the black haired woman desperately attempted to withdraw, throwing herself into a sloppy roll while leaving the redhead with a parting gift. Her hand smashed against the ground and green smoke abruptly billowed up around the teen, who caught herself in a half breath before realizing the danger she was in.

' _Poison!'_ Her intellect screamed as the acidic flavor of chemicals burned against the back of her throat. Ranma handsprung out of the cloud. Her landing was sloppy as her vision doubled and tripled with the limited dose. She staggered, and the woman was there again, attacking.

"You're too good to let live, child!" Lady Shiva screamed and began her own blitzkrieg, layering her pressure point attacks with combinations that Ranma could barely intercept as the world blurred and wavered around her. Pain blasted through her limbs as she prioritized protecting her vitals, thought it was all she could do to fall back against the woman's barrage until the dosage ran its course through her system. She watched as the woman's blurry hand arched up like a snake preparing to bite and the sum total of Ranma's world focused on evading that blow at all costs.

The teen's left arm swung wide, hoping to catch the double vision attack with the wide angle of its arc as opposed to the precise deflection that she woudn't be able to intercept anyway, while throwing herself into a sloppy pivot. _Impact_. Her shoulder instead of the instant kill the strike represented against her heart. It was new pain, but tolerable as Ranma staggered away, her vision slowly clearing against the woman's incredulous stare.

"You evaded it…" Lady Shiva watched, purposely waiting for the girl to recover as she wondered aloud.

"Kirigi-sensei taught— _pant_ —taught me that one when I was seven." Ranma smirked with more confidence than she felt, taking the opportunity to firm up her balance as the minor dosage she had received faded.

"My apologies, then…" She bowed slightly, recognizing the name immediately. It was a small community that could drop titles such as the one her opponent just had… _A very small community._ "I have clearly underestimated your pedigree."

"Wouldn't be the first time," The redhead returned, finally feeling ready for another bout. She rolled her neck around as if to work the kinks out, then sighted the assassin. "Ready to finish this?"

"Let's."

Ranma Saotome's fights were usually an escalation of force—Determine how much the opponent could take, maybe learn a few moves and then close the deal. It was necessary when you were a bad-ass martial artist in world full of wannabes, and it was a mistake she readily acknowledged as she considered the older woman across from her. Some of her moves had been interesting. Some of them she had never even seen before, but it was a complacency that had nearly gotten her killed. The girl chastised herself for falling into the same rut, instantly revising her combat doctrine in that moment.

She _moved._

Lady Shiva's eyes widened and the girl quite literally turned into a blur, charging into her with impossible speed. Her hands dropped to the pair of daggers at her hips, but was quickly forced to abandon the attempt in favor of a defense that barely kept up with the girl's attack speed. Pain exploded up and down her body, while any attempt to retake the offensive either missed entirely or was batted—

 _WHAaM!_

Stars blasted across her vision with the critical miss and the passage of Ranma's heel against the side of her face. She pirouetted through three spins before tumbling to the ground, rolling out against the concrete in an uncontrolled slide. It took a moment- maybe several for all Lady Shiva could tell -to regain her senses and find the world a red blur. She touched her face, noting the smear of blood on her fingers, then looked up to the redhead standing over her with an inquisitive look, as if not sure what to do with her next.

The assassin chuckled in a self-depreciating tone, trying to at least sit herself upright. "Looks like- _cough_ -I won't be able to kill you after all."

"Damn straight you—"

"I'll just have to settle for her." Shiva's smile turned cruel as the dagger she had sought to use against the redhead was employed against a new target. She never took her eyes off the martial artist and flung it to the side blindly, watching the redhead's horrified face while anticipating wet impact followed by a scream that-

-Should have come by the time she had finished that though. Instead of the horrified look on her opponent's face, one of amazement had taken its place and she snapped her eyes left to find—

"— _You."_

An imposing tower of armor stood next to Nabiki, holding the dagger in hand as if having caught it in midflight… Which is exactly what the Batman had done because Ranma had watched him do it.

"Me." He answered Shiva's derisive hiss even as Nabiki stared with bug eyes at the figure next to her. He manipulated the lock binding the teen's hands and it clicked open, releasing the girl into his arms. He walked her over to Ranma, setting Nabiki on her feet to lean against the martial artist even as he offered the redhead Shiva's dagger. "I believe this is yours."

Ranma stared into the mask for a long moment before accepting the dagger, receiving his message clearly with a solemn nod. Nabiki continued to stare with bug eyes, her gaze alternating between the Dark Knight and Ranma as her intellect balanced pain and fatigue with disbelief. She leaned into Ranma's ear with an emphatic whisper.

"Ranma, he's—!"

"I know. _Later."_ Ranma whispered back, insisting on her patience as the caped crusader continued to Lady Shiva, who scowled up at him.

"This was a trap." She spat, only to watch the black monolith shake his head.

"Not for you." Batman shook his head, wrenching her arms behind her as he bound her wrist with what looked like metallic zip ties. The woman wrestled against them, but only succeed in flopping over to her side as the Detective turned his attention back to Ranma. "The police are on the way. I suggest you not be here when they arrive."

"What about Miss Sunshine there?" Ranma glanced down to the struggling woman at Batman's feet as she carefully balanced the girl leaning into her shoulder. Shiva threw a spiteful glare up at her, to which Ranma responded with a syrupy smile.

"We're going to have a talk." The man menaced, earning a glare of his own. Ranma simply nodded and turned for the shot-up door, carefully ensuring Nabiki's balance even as the girl stared silent questions into her. For now, Ranma ignored the quiet plea for information and instead concentrated on extracting the girl from the building when the Batman's voice stopped her. "And Ranko…"

The redhead half turned to the waiting man.

"…You could be good at this." The Dark Knight continued, his voice and demeanor the epitome of seriousness. Ranma blinked, unsure of what to make of the recommendation as he continued. "Think about it. You know where to find me."

Ranma paused, trying to dissect the meaning of Bruce's statement before offering a simple nod, carrying the middle Tendo carefully through the door. Nabiki's eyes darted across the garage they had entered, her study flicking across the various bodies and their assorted weapons while realizing just who had put them there. She pulled closer to the redhead balancing her and the pair stepped out into the nights air moments later, taking to the gravel path for the very entrance Ranma had only recently entered. Two more bodies lay before the pair, one of them stirring enough to roll over. The redhead paused over him, then hauled her leg back.

" _OOooFF!"_

She removed the foot from his stomach, altering her course to take Nabiki around with her. She glanced over her shoulder with a dour look. "That one's for Akane."

Leaving the inert mercenary behind, they managed to make it to the gate when a black sedan pulled up alongside the fence, rolling to a lazy stop at the curb. The driver's side door opened, and a well dress chauffer stepped out to open the passenger door for the pair as neared the gate. The Japanese man nodded as the teens drew closer, eyeing him warily. "Mister Han sends his regards. The Tendo Dojo, Miss?

Ranma cocked her head, glancing to his partner. Nabiki glanced back with a frown. _The infamous Mister Han._ The fact that his driver was here, now spoke volumes for their current situation, though one of the teens was signifyingly more in the dark than the other when it came to realizing just how deep those volumes went. The high school senior hissed in pain as she tried to slide herself into the sedan, forcing the redhead next to her to reassess the situation. Cuts. Bruises. Broken ribs weren't out of the question given her shallow breaths. The wale of distant sirens met Ranma's ears, helping her come to a decision regardless.

"Doc Tofu's. I'll give you directions."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Well, we're back. I know i **t** 's taking a bit for t **h** is fic to g **e** t anywhere close to the D **C** Universe, b **u** t I think the lot build-up is necessa **r** y. **S** ince I ke **e** p fo **r** getting **i** t in the previou **s** chapt **e** r **s** , I'll pad my word count here. Ranma will not become:

-A Robin  
-A Batfemme  
-A Catwoman

 **A Ship-** I know they're not required, but the question of matching Ranma inevitably comes up. It's an option, like many others. DC becomes problematic in so far as their are many, many franchises and any potential pairing has probably already been paired with somebody else... normally multiple somebody elses through the various canons. i've had suggestions as to Miss Martian, Wonder Girl (both of which have dated Super Boy depending on your series, ironically) and Cassandra (Cain). Nabiki becomes an obvious candidate with her rescue and I almost want to avoid it just because of that. Let's just say i'm still exploring the options, but if I get lazy and or frustrated, I have an easy one that all but writes itself. If you saw that on F3, hush :)

Thanks again to everybody at F3 for bouncing stuff off of. Weebee and all of you, of course.


End file.
